


You don't have to love me

by ANTchan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because I can, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Scott McCall, De-Aged Scott, Emotional Sex, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, Insecure Derek, Insecure Scott, Insecure Stiles, Knotting, M/M, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, POV Derek, Pining Derek, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Stiles just wants Scerek to happen, Threesome - M/M/M, just general insecurity and pining, kid!Scott is a cutie, s1 Scott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANTchan/pseuds/ANTchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a never-ending list of things that Derek regrets in his life. Offering the Bite to a group of emotionally unstable teenagers, not putting Peter back into his grave <i>immediately</i> after he crawled out, <i>anything involving Kate Argent.</i> Now he can add taking advice from Stiles Stilinski to the list.</p><p>Go track down the witch with Scott, he said. Commune with your Alpha on the hunt, he said. Finally grow a spine and <i>ask him out</i>, he said.</p><p>Never again. Because <i>now</i> there’s a child staring at him. A cherubic-faced child is frowning at him from the spot where Scott once stood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is fic was meant to go out a LOT EARLIER in the week for FSA week, buuutttt I am a slow writer and it's been a fight just to get it finished. I was inspired by [this adorable little post](http://anamelesstraveler.tumblr.com/post/128112883425/rashaka-littlechinesedoll-teen-wolf-au) weeks ago, and I finally found the drive to write it!
> 
> The anon commenting has been turned off on this fic thanks to That One Anon. Too bad.

 

 --------------------1---------------------

 

This is not happening.

There’s a never-ending list of things that Derek regrets in his life - at varying degrees. Offering the Bite to a group of emotionally unstable teenagers, not putting Peter back into his grave _immediately_ after he crawled out, _anything involving Kate Argent._ Now he can add taking advice from Stiles Stilinski to the list.

Go track down the witch with Scott, he said.

Commune with your Alpha on the hunt, he said.

Finally grow a spine and _ask him out_ , he said. Or just shove him against the nearest available surface and kiss him. Stiles suggested that too.

Hunting down the rogue witch in their territory had been the easy part. Controlling his heartbeat, keeping Scott from noticing how nervous he was - that was harder. But none of that matters now, because like everything else in Derek’s life, it’s all gone to hell in a handbasket. All it had taken was the witch blasting a spell at them as she made her escape - and Scott shoving him just of out the blast radius.

And now…

There’s a child staring at him. A cherubic-faced child is frowning at him from the spot where Scott once stood. And there’s _no doubt_ who the child is because that’s _Scott’s frown_ in miniature, and Scott’s nose wrinkling cutely, and _Scott is a kid_.

Derek breathes deeply. _Fuck._

He regrets everything that has led him to this.

“Scott,” he greets cautiously.

The boy’s brows furrow. “Who are you? Why are we in the woods? It smells funny.” He rubs his sleeve over his nose. Derek can’t really blame him for that. The sharp, crackling smell of magic is overpowering in the air around them - and will be for days.

Derek kneels slowly, eyes never leaving Scott’s - as if the boy were a frightened wild animal rather than a lost child. He’s… not sure that’s a good way to approach the situation. Especially not when the little boy backs away a few steps, his eyes flashing Alpha red.

The anxiety hits Derek like a brick wall. The whine gets stuck in his throat, his eyes flashing in deference to his Alpha. He raises his hands gently, fingers spread in an attempt to show Scott he doesn’t mean him harm. “I’m Derek,” he says. “I’m your... friend.” The word hitches on his tongue. He doesn’t know _what_ he is to Scott. Has _never_ known exactly where he and Scott stand.

“I don’t have a friend named Derek.” And if Derek’s heart sinks a little, he ignores it. He doesn’t even know to what _extent_ Scott is a child. Or what he remembers. “But you um…” Scott continues, almost bashfully, “you smell safe. Like Stiles too.” So he’s attuned with his powers, as young wolves so often are.

“Yes… Stiles and I are… friends, too. And we need to go home, okay?”

“I’m… I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.”

Shit. “Okay… what if I call Stiles and your mom? Would that be okay?”

Scott hums, his tiny mouth pursing. “Um… okay, I guess.”

He fishes his phone out of his back pocket, quickly thumbing through his contacts to Stiles’ number. It barely gets through the first ring before Stiles picks up.

_“Hey, sugarplum. How’d the boyfriend bonding go?”_

Derek has to shut his eyes to keep from rolling them. “Don’t call it that. Don’t call _me_ that.”

_“But **honeybunch**! You’re my boyfriends and you’re bonding. What else do you want me to call it? ‘Hoping my boyfriends will man up and make out?’”_

_He’s going to kill him._ “Stiles,” he growls.

“That doesn’t sound like Stiles,” the high little voice pipes up.

_“...Derek, who is that.”_

“Slight problem,” Derek replies through gritted teeth. He clicks the phone onto speaker. “Say hi, Scott.”

The child waves at the phone after a moment’s hesitation. “...Hi!”

_“Holy shit!”_

Scott’s eyes go comically wide, and then he _giggles_ , like a perfect little cherub.

“ _Stiles!_ ” Derek barks.

_“Oh, like Scott’s never heard that word before.”_

“Scott is currently, what, six--”

“I’m seven!”

“-- _seven_ , and shouldn’t be exposed to that language, Stiles.”

He can practically feel Stiles rolling his eyes. _“Oh, excuse **me**. Hand me to Scott, then, Mister Proper.”_ Derek clenches his jaw shut to avoid saying something equally damning. He passes the phone into Scott’s hands. The smartphone dwarfs them now. _“Hi, Scotty!”_

“Hi… are you really Stiles?”

_“Yeah, buddy!”_

“How old are you?”

_“I’m nineteen, just like you were when I saw you last. You feeling okay? You remember what happened?”_

“Um… no. I don’t know where I am. Or who Derek is.”

_“That’s okay. Derek, what happened? Trap, spell, what?”_

Derek leans forward just slightly. This time, at least, the boy doesn’t try to back away from him. “The witch escaped. She tried to hit us with something, both of us. But Scott…”

_“Don’t tell me - he was very heroic and shoved you out of the way.”_

He lowers his head. “Yeah."

“Wow,” Scott whispers. “I saved you?”

It’s Stiles that has to answer. The words get caught in Derek’s throat. _“Yeah, you did, dude! Because Derek’s my boyfriend and your Second. He’s really important to us, so you can trust him, okay?”_

Though Scott looks less dubious about the idea, he still hesitates. “I’ll call your Mom next,” Derek soothes.

 _“That’s a good idea,”_ Stiles agrees over the phone. _“Hey, dude, can you pass me back to Derek so I can tell him about the witch thing?”_ As soon as the phone is back in Derek’s hands, he clicks the speaker off and brings it to his ear. It’s pointless, thanks to Scott’s heightened senses, but the illusion of privacy is comforting. _“So we have the five points taken care of. If she does try coming back, she’s going to have a hard time siphoning energy from the ley lines.”_

“You didn’t have any trouble?”

_“Not nearly as much as you had. Lydia said the warding spell was a little bitchy with her Banshee magic. But it’s Lydia, so she handled it with poise and grace and scary intellect. Everyone’s safe and headed home. I’ll meet you at the loft tonight, okay?”_

“Yeah. I’ll… talk to you then.”

 _“Right. Good. ...Bye.”_ Derek winces as he hangs up. The strain of the words “I love you” feels heavy in his mouth. Neither of them has said it yet. Neither of them have ever been _good_ at communicating emotions without sarcasm or anger. But Derek can feel it coming, can feel it boiling over with every aborted attempt.

Scott’s staring at him as he dials Melissa’s number. Derek tries not to shift nervously.

 _“Derek?”_ Melissa’s voice is worried as she picks up. _“What’s wrong, is everyone okay?”_

It suddenly occurs to Derek that he’s never called Melissa unless one or more of the Pack are in need of medical attention. He cringes, because even if Scott doesn’t need a nurse’s touch, he’s still in trouble. “Mostly…”

“MOM!” Scott shrieks. And then he’s nearly on top of Derek, practically climbing onto his bent knees to get to the phone.

 _“.... **Scott?!** ”_ Derek passes the phone over once more, and stands back. Melissa’s high, urgent voice is still crystal clear even from four feet away. _“Is that really you-- what happened? Are you alright?”_

“Derek says there was a witch!” Scott chirps brightly. “A witch that tried to put a spell on us and I saved Derek and now I’m seven? Stiles says I’m nineteen. Am I really nineteen, Mom? Is Derek really my friend?”

“I… yeah, baby, you’re really nineteen. Derek’s your friend. Have him bring you home, okay?”

“Okay.” Derek’s just starting to relax, relieved that Scott trusts his mother’s words, when the boy wanders right up to him with the phone still pressed to his ear, and slips his free hand into Derek’s. And then Derek’s tense all over again.

This… no. He can’t handle this.

Scott’s big, brown eyes are even _bigger_ as a child. And twice as soulful and innocent.

He regrets everything.

 

\--------------------2---------------------

 

They manage to make it back to Derek’s SUV without incident. Scott holds his hand the entire way back, kicking through the leaves with his sneakered feet and generally just… being a kid. Derek has _no idea_ how to handle that - the child thing. He hasn’t interacted seriously with a child since he was _sixteen_ and Cora was nine and Mattie was _four_. Scott doesn’t seem to mind his silence any, though. He chatters to his mother over the phone halfway back, and then to Deaton once they get on the road.

Deaton is as gentle and infuriatingly vague as always. But Scott loves talking to him. He doesn’t mind answering questions about what he _does_ remember of the spell (a painful, full-body itch; fear; blinding light; the smell of ozone and, oddly, chocolate fudge) and what he remembers of himself (he knows he’s a werewolf, he remembers Stiles and the Sheriff, but nothing about the Pack). Derek offers what little additional information he can about the spell - which isn’t much - and promises to meet Deaton at the loft.

The universe, as always, seems to have a keen sense of irony, because it’s only after Deaton’s hung up that Derek _desperately wants him back._ Because once there’s nothing to occupy him anymore, Scott begins to _stare_ at him. the complete silence stretches for several minutes, until Derek can hear the steering wheel creak under his white-knuckled grip. “ _What?_ ” he snaps, dragging his eyes from the road. His instant worry that his raised voice upset the boy is unfounded. Scott only blinks at him.

“You and Stiles are boyfriends?”

“...Yes…”

“Do you _love_ him?”

 _‘Oh, fuck, not this again,’_ he thinks miserably. The _first time_ he and Scott had a conversation like this had been painful enough. “Yeah…”

“Does he love you?”

“I think so?”

“Do you live together? Are you _married?_ ”

“No. _No._ He lives with _you._ Why are you asking so many questions?”

Scott completely ignores his question, eyes lighting up. “He lives with me?! Are we still best friends?”

Well, shit. He doesn’t know how to explain that one. How do you explain open relationships to a child? “You’re very… close,” he hedges.

“I bet we’re still the best! Do we still hang out all the time? Do we have the same job? Do _I_ have a job?”

“You’re… both in college right now. You’re studying to be a veterinarian. Stiles is going to school to be a cop like his dad.”

“ _Wow_ …” Scott breathes, the simple details of his adult life having  _dazzled_ him somehow. It’s… okay, it’s actually kind of cute. The revelation seems to tide Scott over for a few minutes. But soon the restless energy is stirring from the passenger seat all over again. “If I’m an Alpha, does that mean you have to do what I say?” he asks.

“No,” Derek replies, his tone flat. “It means you’re my leader, but I can say no to you.”

“Buuuuut… if I say we should get ice cream, you’ll do it?”

“No, Scott.”

“I’ll be good! I won’t even wolf out or anything, I promise.”

“ _No, Scott_.”

“...You’re mean. Why are you being so mean?”

“I don’t know!” he snaps. “I don’t handle change every well. Stop asking.”

“I want to go home. When are you taking me home?”

A growl works its way up his throat. “God, you’re _seven_ and this is still like every conversation we’ve _ever had_.”

Scott sinks lower in the seat, crossing his arms over his chest in a Grade-A sulk. The car falls into blissful silence once more… or what _should be_ blissful silence. Instead Derek keeps glancing over at the little boy beside him, waiting for him to speak again. He doesn’t.

And Derek’s werewolf ears do not miss the quiet growling of a tiny stomach.

He turns into the next In-N-Out they pass, and orders Scott’s regular from memory. Complete with large strawberry milkshake.Which, apparently, is still seven-year-old Scott’s favorite.

“How did you know?” Scott gushes, voice muffled with a mouthful of cheeseburger.

“Lucky guess,” Derek lies.

 

\--------------------3---------------------

 

Both Melissa and Deaton are waiting outside the loft when they get there. He has to stop Scott from leaping from the car before he pulls it to a halt. Not that it matters, because Melissa is at the door as soon as Derek throws the SUV into park, flinging it open and catching her son as he leaps from the car at her. “Mom!” he shrieks. And then Scott is going a mile a minute all over again, telling his mother everything that comes to his mind - gushing about everything he’s learned and about what’s happening to him.

Even Melissa looks a little dazed by it. “I’m glad you’re okay, baby,” she says, ruffling his hair. “You’re not hurt anywhere, right?”

Scott shakes his head. His attention has already shifted to Deaton, who’s been standing quietly by. Scott peers at him from around his mother, eyes wide and guileless.

Deaton smiles. “Hello, Scott. My name is Alan Deaton. You talked to me earlier, remember?”

“Yeah… I work with you, right? And I’m gonna be a vet’rinarian like you?”

“Yes. You’re working very hard to be one.”

Scott _beams,_ in that same incomprehensible way he always does under Deaton’s praise. It’s not something Derek can understand, has ever been able to understand.

“How about we go upstairs, so I can ask you a few questions?”

Scott nods, and reaches for his mother’s hand.

Deaton gestures to him. “Derek,” he greets. “If you would lead the way.” He says it with measured politeness. But for some reason, it still rankles Derek’s nerves.

“Sure,” he grunts in return, and makes a brisk start for the door. He makes sure he stays a few feet ahead of them at all times, and tries not to feel self-conscious about the state of his building. He’s put some money into it since the Pack (minus the pups) graduated high school, so it’s mostly liveable now.

At least he doesn’t have a gaping hole in his wall anymore.

Deaton already has an idea what he’s dealing with by the time they get up to the loft, Derek can tell. The light behind his eyes has turned calculating. “The spell is remarkably stable,” he begins as Derek slides the door shut behind them.

“So you know what it is?” Melissa asks.

“I have an idea, based on Scott’s and Derek’s descriptions and the traces I can still detect. Whatever spell she used certainly didn’t go as she expected. But the enchantment is still stable, and so I don’t see Scott being in any immediate danger.”

“Why does he remember being a werewolf, but nothing else from this time?”

Derek answers this one. “Children who are bitten or born are usually attuned to the Wolf. More than a bitten adult. It’s a survival mechanism. Children never have to be taught to shift.” His gaze is drawn down to Scott, just as it always is. From day one, everything within Derek has gravitated towards Scott - as Pack, as an Alpha, as a friend, as… someone precious and unattainable. It’s something so natural, like turning to face the sun.

But Scott’s never felt that way. As evidenced by the way his eyes are locked on the door, rather than Derek. The way all of his senses are zeroed in on the too-familiar footsteps storming up the stairwell towards the loft. It’s not a surprise. Of course it’s not. Derek will never be _that person_ for Scott.

Scott already has someone.

And that someone flings the door open in a flurry of limbs, eyes casting wildly about the room until they land on Scott’s small form. There’s a moment of utter silence, where the two of them just look at each other. And then the light shifts in Scott’s eyes, his face splitting into a wide grin. “ _Stiles!_ ” he squeals.

“Scotty!”

There’s a sour burn in Derek’s throat as he watches the two of them run to each other - as if the sudden twelve-year gap in memories doesn’t matter - and it’s immediately swallowed up by cold guilt. Stiles scoops Scott up easily, swinging him around once before setting the dazzled boy back on his feet. “ _Whoa,_ ” Scott gushes, “you’re so strong--”

“Well, _yeah_ , I have to keep up with you big, strong wolves--”

“And you’re so _pretty_ \--”

“I-- you think I’m pretty? Like, _actually_ pretty? Aww, Scotty--”

“Yeah! You don’t look goofy at all!”

“Are you… are you saying I looked _goofy_ when I was seven?”

“...Noooo…” he breaks off in a shriek of laughter when Stiles pokes him in the sides, squirming to get away from the touch. Even altered as they are, their bond is unshakable. And no one in the room is surprised at all by that.

Derek isn’t sure if it’s the jealousy or the desire that stings the worst. He’s forced to swallow it back as Stiles finally looks his way. The smile on his face goes shuttered for an instant, and then Stiles is rising to his feet and coming closer. He steps into Derek’s space with ease, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth even easier, and that helps to soothe the frazzled nerves biting at him. “You okay?” Stiles asks quietly as they separate.

And Derek… doesn’t even begin to know how to articulate the swirling turmoil that’s been building in him long before this. How to explain the dread at how deceptively simple this magical fuck-up seems to be. So he nods, because there’s no other answer to give. Stiles is okay. His Pack is okay. And Scott…

Scott’s handling it with a surprising amount of strength, just like he always has. Even being a child doesn’t change that. He doesn’t even seem jealous to have Stiles’ attention on someone else. Instead only watching them with a child-like mixture of awe and disgust at their display of affection. Derek leans into Stiles’ side just a bit more, and just lets himself take solace in the feel of him. He doesn’t zone back into the conversation until Scott proclaims, “I wanna stay here tonight!”

Oh no.

“It may be a good idea, actually,” Deaton agrees. “If something should go wrong, or should the witch attempt to return, it would be best if Scott were in a safe place.”

_Shit._

“Yeah, buddy, it’ll be like a sleepover!”

“Yeah!!”

Two pairs of brown eyes turn to him, and Derek knows he’s _doomed._ “Is that okay, Derek?”

“Sure…”

_Fuck everything._

 

\--------------------4---------------------

 

The problem is that Melissa had long since donated any clothes that would fit seven-year-old Scott. And… while Derek has gotten better about keeping food in his loft, he doesn’t consider takeout to be a good meal for a child. Even if Stiles assures him otherwise. So Derek is the one who volunteers to go shopping.

Because of course he does.

Because he can _not_ handle staying alone with Scott until Stiles came back. Or being in the middle of both of them while waiting for Melissa.

 _You escaped pretty quick,_ Stiles texts him not twenty minutes into his shopping. He’s standing in front of a display of children’s clothes, trying not to think about what he looks like.

_Someone had to do the shopping._

_Yeah and you jumped on that. So what is it, then? What’s going on in that very lovely head of yours?_

Stiles has him figured out, which is an unfortunately frequent circumstance now that they’re together. Derek bites back a sigh.

_Nothing._

_Now THAT is an outright lie. Come on, dude. You’ve been cagey all day._  
_Derek._  
_Deeerrr._  
_Dereeekk.  
_ _Tell meee._

_I swear to god I’m going to chuck this phone into a wall if you keep doing that._

_Tell me what’s wrong!_

_I just wanted to give you some time._

_Time for WHAT?_

His growl scares away the sales floor attendant.

 _To be alone with him.  
_ _I don’t want him to be uncomfortable. You’re the best one for him._

There’s a long pause between replies. It gives Derek time to patrol through the kids department and feel _utterly lost_ about what he’s supposed to be buying. The next time his phone buzzes, he steels himself.

 _That’s such bullshit_  
_Do you have ANY  
_ _No, hold on._

Snapchat dings a few minutes later, as Derek’s trying to casually toss packages of socks and underwear into his cart. It’s a video of Scott sitting on his couch, with the caption “I HAVE BEEN REPLACED” splashed across it.

_“Did Derek REALLY chase the lizard monster all over town?” Scott’s saying. “While Hunters were chasing HIM? That’s so COOL!”_

_“Yup,”_ Stiles cuts in. _“He’s fought Hunters and a kanima and Alphas and berserkers and chimeras…”_

_“And witches! He tried to chase the witch after I got zapped-- Derek’s really awesome!”_

_“Yeah, he is, buddy.”_

The video closes. He uses his replay to watch it over again, warmth seeping from his chest and into his limbs.

 _He likes Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,_ Stiles texts. _Mikey and Raf are his favorites._

Derek can do that.

 

\--------------------5---------------------

 

He does more than that. Not only does he return to the loft with a set of clothing essentials and groceries for a week, but also a handful of Ninja Turtle action figures, comic books, a mini lacrosse stick, and a Wii U. Scott looks ready to piss himself in excitement and Derek absolutely does _not_ bask in the adoration and ecstatic shrieking. The knowing, fond smirk Stiles keeps shooting him over Scott’s head doesn’t mean anything.

“Pushover,” Stiles teases him quietly.

“Shut up.”

They set Scott up at the breakfast bar with his toys and comic books while Derek cooks dinner. It’s mac and cheese. Not exactly as glamorous as Derek had intended, but it’s late and they need something fast. And no one’s complaining, so he makes due. Stiles takes up his place at Scott’s side at the bar, keeping him entertained - the both of them entertained. The comic books barely distract the boy for five minutes, before he’s asking about their lives again. He’s fascinated to hear about all of their “adventures” - anything Stiles is willing to tell him. (It’s strange for Derek to think about the things they’ve gone through in such a light term. As if the pain and the fear and desperation didn’t exist.) But it’s not Stiles’ tales of late night chases through the city or the terrifying people they’ve faced that actually makes Scott speechless in wonder.

Apparently that honor falls to learning that he’s had not one, but _two_ girlfriends.

Derek tips his head back, and silently asks any listening deity for strength. Stiles rubs a hand over his mouth, stifling a chuckle.

“I had _girlfriends_?” Scott asks in a hushed voice.

“Oh yeah.” Derek can hear the hitch of laughter in his boyfriend’s voice. “Allison and Kira.”

Scott’s mouth forms a perfectly surprised “o.“ “But I’m not dating them anymore? Where are they now? Are they Pack?”

“Yeah, they’re Pack. Allison just got back from France. She’s dating Isaac now - another Packmate. Kira’s at Berkeley with Malia. They’ll be back this week too. Maybe you’ll get a chance to see them if you’re seven long enough.”

Derek can hear Scott’s feet kicking against the bar. “Do I… do I have a girlfriend now?” he asks, voice soft and bashful. Derek turns away from the stove, hurrying to catch Stiles’ eyes before he can answer. It’s a useless attempt, because Stiles isn’t even looking at him. His gaze is trained on Scott, and he’s got that calculating gleam in his eyes that sends Derek’s pulse spiking.

“Sti--”

“Nah, dude. You’ve got me.”

“But I’ve always had you!”

There’s no missing the warmth that blooms in Stiles’ expression, or the way the tension all but oozes out of the line of his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah you do. But I meant I’m your _boyfriend,_ dork.”

Scott drops the Ninja Turtle he’d been fiddling with. “You… are?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re _Derek’s_ boyfriend.” Scott’s eyes swing towards him, his face puckered in confusion, and Derek fights not to cringe away from his focus.

“He’s my boyfriend too. You’re _both_ my boyfriends.”

“You can _do_ that?”

“Of course! As long everyone involved is okay with it.”

“Oh.” The boy falls silent, looking thoughtful. Derek almost dares to hope that the danger has passed. He’s dead wrong, as Scott nearly gives him a heart attack a minute later when he speaks up again. “So is Derek my boyfriend too?”

Derek leans his hand against the counter, and silently curses the entirety of the universe.

“No,” Stiles answers with, damn him, deceptive flippancy. “But we both like him a whole lot.”

And Scott - _fuck_ , Scott doesn’t even question it. He smiles with all the force of the sun and nods. “I do!”

“ _Stiles._ ”

Even Derek’s surprised by the sharp edge of his voice. Scott and Stiles jump, turning to him with equally rattled expressions. And then Stiles sees the blush on his face - which must be _glowing_ with how hot his face and his neck feel - and it melts into a smirk. “Scott, dude,” he practically chirps, “why don’t you go get settled so we can watch a movie. There’s this really awesome one called Star Wars that I think you’ll _really_ like! He waits until Scott slides off the bar stool before he approaches. Derek wants to shake the smug look right off his face.

“He’s going to be pissed at you when this is over,” Derek grouses without preamble.

“For what, making him _finally_ watch Star Wars? Who cares! I finally _won_.”

“That, too. I was talking about you making him think that he wants to be…”

Stiles’ brows arch expectantly. And when Derek can’t even speak the words “ _with me,_ ” he leans closer. “I’m not _making_ him think anything, Der.”

“Stiles.”

“I’m not! Christ, I am so tired of the two of you _pining_ \--”

“--I don’t _pine_.”

“ _Pining, Derek!_ Absolutely _mooning_ over each other - pun _intended!_ It’s the most hilarious and heartbreaking thing I’ve ever witnessed, and I harbored a truly _humiliating_ crush on Lydia Martin for most of my life. Still do - in a more platonic sense. I mean, can you blame me?”

“Yes.”

“That hurts, Derbear.”

“Calling me that does not make your case any better, _Mieszko_.”

He takes a special kind of solace in the way Stiles grimaces at the name. His hands come up, long fingers splayed even as he starts backing away. “Alright. I’m out of here. I’ll just go cower on the couch with Scott in fear of your superior gross pet names.”

“That _is_ your name, Stiles.”

“And it’s the _worst!_ ” And Stiles flees to the sofa, leaving Derek to gather his strength for the night ahead.

Dinner doesn’t turn out to be the emotional minefield he’s expecting. In fact, they make it through the entirety of Episode IV and the only questions Scott asks are about the movie. Derek keeps waiting for him to ask about their relationship - how it works or what feelings Derek has - but it never comes. As if Scott has just accepted what _Stiles_ has told him - what _Derek_ has told him.

Derek can’t even think of a time when Scott has blindly accepted anything he’s said before.

They only make it through one movie, but Scott is bouncing on the sofa and chattering in a nonstop ode to Star Wars that has Stiles looking _unbearably_ smug. With Scott so keyed up, the two of them dash about the loft pretending to have a lightsaber battle (which Stiles proclaims is his life’s greatest wish come true) while Derek sets up the Wii U. It’s generally distracting and not at all entertaining when they try to use him as a burly werewolf shield.

It’s not.

He’s not smiling. No matter what _either_ of them say.

Playing Mario Kart doesn’t go any better in regards to calm, but then again there isn’t even hope for that when Stiles and _adult Scott_ mix with video games. Neither of them are capable of _sitting still,_ leaning into each others and Derek’s space constantly. Until Derek has had enough of losing to Scott and sits sideways on the couch, extending a leg and pushing him, giggling, all the way to the other end. And then Scott retaliates by flashing his red eyes in the middle of the next race and throwing him off the track.

“That’s cheating!” Derek grumbles at him.

Scott doesn’t look in the slightest bit repentant.

“He’s worse than _you,_ ” he tells Stiles. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

But all in all, the night goes decently. Seven-year-old Scott is a good kid. Sweet and insightful and just a touch _devious_ , in a way that makes Derek’s heart ache. That’s a side of Scott he rarely sees; is barely even aware that it exists. It makes it even clearer how much of their interactions over the years has been tainted by anger and misery. It’s disheartening to think about the immeasurable distance between them, and the bridge that Derek’s burned with every mistake.

The peace starts to unravel at bedtime. Scott makes it through a bath and changing into his new pajamas with a breathtaking amount of grace for a seven-year-old, but the moment one of them utters the word “bedtime,” it all ends. That angelic face twists into a stormy frown, and everything they say is met with a sullen glare. Gone is the laughter and the adoration, and in its place is the stubborn nature of a child.

“I’m not _tired_ ,” he continues to insist. Even though it’s closer to midnight than ten in the evening and his eyelids are drooping. Derek considers hauling Scott to bed, protests be damned, but fears it’s going to lead to shouting and sprouting claws. But persuasion and demands have failed miserably.

“Get your butt to bed, dude!” Stiles eventually orders. He stands between Scott and the TV, hands planted on his hips and his mouth curled in frustration. “Do we have to do a timeout scenario? I remember how much you hated those.”

“You can’t do that!” the boy snaps.

“The hell I can’t!”

“You’re not my Mom! You’re not even my babysitter. You’re my _boyfriend_. You can’t put your boyfriend in time out. I don’t have to listen to you.”

Derek has a horrible vision of just how badly this is about to go. An angry flush is working its way over Stiles’ cheeks, and Scott’s looking more confrontational than ever. It’s going to end in screaming and maybe even tears, and Derek’s already frayed nerves cry out for mercy.  He briefly contemplates - fantasizes, really - making an escape before it all goes to shit. But he can’t, and he knows that. But how in the world is he supposed to step in without… what, undermining Stiles? Is he supposed to play the bad guy and put Scott in timeout because _he’s_ not his boyfriend and he has full rights to? Would that make Scott even less likely to do what Stiles says?

It’s parenting, he realizes. They’ve been thrown into a practice parenting session.

A sad, hysterical laugh gets caught in his chest.

“No, no, this isn’t…” Derek doesn’t realize he’s even said anything until both Scott and Stiles turn to him. His mouth shuts with a soft _click_. And as he’s trying to come up with an excuse, an idea strikes him. “Scott…” he offers slowly, “do you want to go out and look at the moon with me?”

“The moon?” they both parrot back at him.

But Scott’s irritated expression smoothes out into one of curiosity, and he climbs to his feet. “‘Kay.” Derek holds out his arms, willing his heartbeat to keep in check as he scoops Scott off the floor. “But s’not a full moon…”

He settles the boy on his hip. Scott’s a little too tall to be carried comfortably like this. His legs dangle awkwardly by Derek’s thigh. “I know. But it’s still nice to look at.”

There’s an unreadable look in Stiles’ eyes as he watches the two of them. “So, what,” he asks, “are you going out to ‘commune with Mother Moon?’” His tone is that careful balance of joking sarcasm that is equal parts endearing and frustrating.

“You’re not far off.” Derek clears his throat. “My parents would sometimes take us out to look at the moon when we were restless.” And just like that Stiles’ expression blanks in shock. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Rather than let him suffer, Derek just leans in and presses a kiss to his slack mouth. “It’ll only be a few minutes. Head to bed?”

“Uh… yeah. I’ll uh… I’ll see you soon. Have fun?”

Instead of answering, Derek offers a soft smile, and turns to carry Scott up the spiral staircase and through the skylight out onto the roof. The boy’s a line of tense, buzzing energy against his ribs… right up until they step out into the moonlight. And just like that, everything stills. Scott turns his face up into the pale, cool light, following it as Derek pads barefoot across the roof to a better vantage point. The rushing beat of his heart eases into a steady thrum by the time they stop. Derek bites back a triumphant smile, and tips his head back to gaze up at the soothing crescent of the moon. The light is like a caress against his skin, cool and gentle, and it settles the most primal part of him. Nothing matters at that exact moment, nothing but him and Scott and the loving pull of the moon.

Scott’s completely silent for a few minutes, but not any closer to sleep. When Derek peeks down at him, his eyes are fixed on the sky, attentive but not exactly peaceful. “Hm.” And then Derek lifts his head, and lets out a long, soft howl.

A high, wavering voice joins his just at the end, and Derek cuts off abruptly, grinning at the seconds that it takes Scott to realize. He glances at the boy, only to find Scott peering back at him with doe-like eyes. The child stifles a laugh with his hands, and then plants them on Derek’s shoulder and lifts himself up to start another howl, which Derek joins.

They trade back and forth for several minutes, until Scott is hiding his face in Derek’s neck and giggling as Derek howls quietly into his ear. The tension is gone from his body, from _both_ of them.

“Did you have fun today?” Derek murmurs.

“Yeah.” His voice is warm, but the exuberance from the day has faded. Scott shifts against him, nuzzling into his shoulder. He’s going to smell like Scott for days. Weeks, if he keeps doing that. Derek’s chest goes tight just thinking about it. “I watched Star Wars and played games. You got me cool toys. Derek, can we go play with my new lacrosse stuff tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Kay…” he trails off, pressing a yawn into Derek’s shoulder. He’s sagging more and more into his arms, clinging to Derek’s shoulders rather than holding himself up. “Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“I love Stiles a lot. Do I love him a lot when I’m grown up?”

“...Yeah. You tell him all the time.”

“Oh. Good. ‘Cause I do. Do I… tell you I love you too?”

For a moment, Derek can’t find his words. He can’t even get the air into his lungs, much less _speak_. “You… no, you don’t. But you’re not my boyfriend.”

He feels, rather than sees Scott’s pout. “But… I do. I love you a lot too. A whole… lot.”

The roof may as well have collapsed beneath them, from the sudden feeling of weightlessness in Derek’s belly. He’s sure his heart _stops,_ because everything goes still and when his heart starts pounding out of control, his chest aches. It’s stupid to take a child’s love as a serious declaration. This Scott is _seven_. Seven-year-olds will proclaim someone the love of their life if they have the same favorite color in common.

But even still, it’s something so _precious_ and Derek wants to hold onto it for as long as the universe will allow him to; until it decides to rip it out of his hands like it has everything else.

Scott _loves_ him. Scott-the-child loves him and it’s so pure and _good_ and…

 _‘I love you too,’_ Derek thinks. _‘I love you, I love you so much. As a friend, as Pack, as an Alpha, as a child, as a man…’_

By the time Derek has the courage to look over at Scott again, he’s fast asleep against his shoulder. He hitches the sagging weight of the boy up a little higher on his hip, his heart feeling full to bursting, and sneaks back down into the loft. Stiles is sitting up in bed, his lithe frame bathed in the same silvery moonlight they’d just been basking in. It reflects off his eyes and the sheen of his lips.

He’s beautiful. And it’s not as if Derek didn’t _know that_ before. But right now… after everything that’s happened?

“He asleep?” Stiles asks upon seeing him, voice hushed. Rather than answer, and risk waking Scott up, he just turns to show Stiles the sleeping boy. “Wow. I guess your parents had the right idea. I heard you two howling up there. I’d be surprised if the whole neighborhood didn’t-- what’s wrong? What happened?”

Derek freezes where he’s carefully lowering Scott to the bed. “What?”

“You’ve got that look on your face. What happened?”

And Derek can’t say the words until he’s tucked Scott in beside Stiles, and climbed in on the other side. Until it feels like the shadows are wrapped around him as snugly as the sheets are. And Stiles has waited, _patiently,_ even, which is something that Stiles is not. It’s owing his boyfriend an explanation that makes him speak, just as much as the tumultuous swirl of emotions.

“He… He said he loves me,” he whispers into the dark.

Stiles’ smile is warm and soft and glinting in the moonlight. “That’s because he _does_.”

“It’s not the same,” he scoffs. “He’s a _kid._ You can’t expect a kid to mean the same thing as--”

“No, that’s true. But it still feels good, right?”

“...Yeah.” The admission is barely a breath.

“He does as an adult too,” Stiles insists. Derek watches him shift on the bed, eyes tracing the slope of his cheeks, the angle of his jaw. He reaches over Scott, cups Stiles’ face in his hand, thumb tracing over the ridge of his cheekbone.

“I… you-- It’s not that I--” The words lodge in his throat, and no matter how much he _wants to say it_ , his mouth won’t form the words. Fear and frustration takes his voice, until all he can force out is: “I do, _I do_ \- but I can’t--”

“Hey,” Stiles murmurs. His hand raises to cup Derek’s against his cheek. “Me too. I get it. It’s so hard to-- but we _will_. We will, someday.”

“Yeah…”

Stiles presses a quick kiss to his palm, feather light and loving, saying everything that neither of them can bring themselves to speak. And just that simple action is enough knock the breath out of him. Derek squeezes their hands together, tangling their fingers, wanting nothing more than to be closer.

Which is… awkward, with Scott sprawled out between them. He narrowly dodges getting a tiny, sharp elbow in the chest.

“We’ll try not to smother you in your sleep,” Stiles promises.

“Yeah, right.”

They do, a little bit. But it’s okay.

 

\--------------------6---------------------

 

After that, things get better in some ways, and worse in others. By day three Derek finds himself getting used to waking up under a pile of tangled limbs, his body used as a pillow, or even a blanket as Scott attempted to wriggle his way _under_ Derek at one point. The three of them just barely find their way into a routine, which does help to avoid possible meltdowns. But three days isn’t nearly enough time to establish strong authority over a child. Bedtimes are still as much of a nightmare as it was the first day. They end up having to beg for Melissa’s help on that one, just to avoid tears from any of them.

On the second day, the Pack invades without warning, leaving Scott in wide-eyed amazement at the Pack he’s Alpha of. To no one’s surprise, they take to their Alpha’s new form with enthusiasm. It becomes something like a contest for his favor. Scott’s the center of attention, which seems to mystify him. Allison and Kira are greeted with shy smiles and most of the dazzled stares (also to no one’s surprise). But Scott quickly finds fast companions in Boyd and Malia, who puff up in smug satisfaction at the treatment. Isaac complains and tries to make it look like he’s not sulking, until Scott goes over to him as well.

It’s not until the play fighting and tumbling nearly destroys his furniture that Derek orders the party be moved into the Preserve.

And then Jackson shows up with the Nerf guns, and gets proclaimed Scott’s favorite. Stiles is _horrified_.

On day four, Deaton calls them over to the clinic. Their time with Scott-the-child has come to an end, and Derek can’t help but feel a little sad at the idea. And for all the enthusiasm Stiles shows in getting Scott packed into the car, there’s no hiding the way his smile falls the moment Scott isn’t looking.

Deaton is waiting for them at the staff door once they get there. “Hello, Scott,” he welcomes.

“Hi, Doctor Deaton.” Even Scott is subdued now that they’ve arrived.

“Are you ready to be a grown up again?”

“I guess… will it hurt?”

“No. It shouldn’t even itch this time.” He leads the boy into the building, leaving Derek and Stiles to trail after them. “We’ll have to make this quick,” he tells them over his shoulder. “I have an appointment with a tetchy feline at two o’clock, and I need to have the operating room cleansed by then. Magic irritates her.”

The operating room’s been cleared of the table, and in its place a rune circle has been chalked into the floor. The equipment cabinet has been wheeled nearby, offering bowls of powders and herbs and other magical implements rather than surgical tools.

Stiles waves a hand at the circle. “The hell is all this?”

“A dispel,” Deaton replies. He’s already guiding Scott into the center, talking as much to the boy as he is to Stiles. “Casting a spell is a lot like weaving a pattern. There are components that make up every spell, like threads. And sometimes those threads get tangled - which causes spells to go wrong. So all we have to do is untangle it.”

Derek snorts. “As simple as that.”

“Of course not. As I said, the magic keeping Scott in this form is remarkably stable. Recklessly attempting to dismantle the spell could cause it to destabilize.” Deaton reaches for his tools, plucking a small metal talisman from the array. He presses it into Scott’s hands, and offers him a tranquil smile. “But that’s not going to happen.” The druid spends a few more minutes distributing the spell components around the circle. The room’s gone silent. Scott actually looks scared.

“You’ll be okay,” Derek reassures him.

“Yeah, buddy. We’ll see you in just a sec,” Stiles agrees. His voice is clear, confident. But there’s no missing the nervous flutter of his heart. Derek reaches for his hand, wordlessly entwining their fingers.

“I love you,” Scott says quietly.

It’s Stiles that answers, his hand squeezing tightly around Derek’s. “I love you too, buddy.”

Derek… doesn’t say anything. He wishes he could.

Deaton moves, standing directly in front of the circle. He’s holding a bottle of some unnamable liquid in his hand. “Ready, Scott?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Close your eyes, and take deep breaths.” He waits until Scott clenches his eyes shut. “Alright. And in three… two… one.” Deaton tips the bottle, letting the contents dribble out onto the circle. Stiles’ hand clamps so tightly around his that he can feel the bones creak.

And then the room explodes into light.

Derek goes for Stiles the same instant the other man reaches for him. They fumble for half a second, before Derek gets a hand up to shield both of their faces from the blinding light. When it fades a mere few seconds later, they remain still - dazed, blinking to regain their sight.

The first thing that Derek sees is that the form standing in the center of the circle is taller. Broader. His heart leaps.

_Scott._

But then his vision begins to clear. And Scott’s hair is longer, curling endearingly around his face. His face is just the slightest bit rounder, less drawn about the eyes. The muscle definition of his nineteen-year-old self isn’t here yet, and it leaves a softness of youth that Derek hasn’t seen for three years.

And he’s staring at Derek with the open contempt.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Scott spits.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

**END PART 1.**

 


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One question is all it takes for Derek’s world to shatter. Again.
> 
> He’d started hoping life was done throwing these painful curveballs at him.
> 
> And yet Scott is standing before him, sixteen and angry and stuck inside his own life-altering tragedy. His expression is something Derek now only sees in his nightmares, jaw clenched and eyes steely. But there’s real fear in his heartbeat and in his scent. It invades Derek through his senses and through their bond, until _Derek’s_ just as ready to panic as Scott is. Already, Scott’s fangs are dropping, his eyes flickering red.
> 
> “Why am I-- what’s going on?” His eyes dart around the room, pausing on the rune circle at his feet. On Deaton. On Stiles.
> 
> “Okay,” Stiles announces, taking a careful step closer. His hands are held in front of him, palms out. “The short version: It’s 2014."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm clawing my way to the finish line on this one! My goal was before the New Year and HERE I AM. HAPPY ALMOST NEW YEAR have Derek being a sadsack in need of hugs. (He does get those hugs, don't worry.)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left feedback on the first chapter! Even with FSA week, I didn't expect anything to come my way and I was so surprised and pleased with what I was given instead. :D Thank you all!

 

\--------------------1---------------------

 

One question is all it takes for Derek’s world to shatter. Again.

He’d started hoping life was done throwing these painful curveballs at him.

And yet Scott is standing before him, sixteen and angry and stuck inside his own life-altering tragedy. His expression is something Derek now only sees in his nightmares, jaw clenched and eyes steely. But there’s real fear in his heartbeat and in his scent. It invades Derek through his senses and through their bond, until _Derek’s_ just as ready to panic as Scott is. Already, Scott’s fangs are dropping, his eyes flickering red.

“Why am I-- what’s going on?” His eyes dart around the room, pausing on the rune circle at his feet. On Deaton. On Stiles.

“Okay,” Stiles announces, taking a careful step closer. His hands are held in front of him, palms out. “The short version: It’s 2014. You’re nineteen. But you had a run-in with a witch and got turned into a kid. We tried fixing it, but _this_ happened.”

“I’m… I’m what? _What?_ ” His chest heaves, fangs sliding up over his lips. And Derek can feel it - _feel_ how far out of control Scott’s going. For a Beta, it’s bad. For an Alpha - that’s a _disaster._

“Scott--” Derek tries.

“ _NO!_ ” It’s just shy of a roar, and it hits Derek with all the force of a brick wall. He can’t hide his shudder - the way his Alpha’s revulsion makes his skin crawl.

“Scott.” It’s Deaton that steps in, voice smooth and calming, drawing Scott’s attention. “Stiles is correct. You’ve spent the past few days as a seven-year-old. We were trying to reverse the enchantment, but it didn’t go quite to plan. But right now, I need you to take deep breaths, alright? Focus on your anchor. Do you remember what your anchor is, Scott?”

“A-Allison.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Stiles go tense. It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. It _shouldn’t_.

He reaches out to grab for Stiles’ hand. The flicker of movement draws Scott out of his careful focus, anger snapping through his expression at the _sight_ of Derek alone. But he doesn’t lose control again. It’s… a small comfort.

“Then why are _you_ here?” Scott growls at him. “Did you do this? Did you… get some witch to turn me into a kid?!”

 _‘For fuck’s sake--’_ The exact reason why he and sixteen-year-old Scott argued so often comes flooding back to him. He glares at Scott, at this _boy_ who is _so good but so infuriating._ “I did not,” he snarls, “babysit your seven-year-old ass for four days for this.”

That throws the teenager off guard. “You--” A strangled sound leaves his mouth, and he turns to Stiles instead. “You left me with _him?_ Why?!”

“Come on, dude,” Stiles exclaims, “don’t give me The Eyes! You were _with him_ when you got turned into a kid, buddy. He brought you back and we all hung out and babysat you until Deaton was ready.”

“ _Why?_ ”

Derek knows what Stiles is going to say even before he opens his mouth. It’s in the twist of his mouth - in the flick of his long fingers as he gestures. It’s all snark and Derek shuts his eyes and waits for the inevitable fallout. “Why _wouldn’t_ I let my boyfriend hang out with us?”

The room goes quiet. Scott has _stopped breathing_ . Derek makes a slow countdown from ten, and gets to three before the young Alpha finally speaks. “You’re _dating_ him?” There’s a shrill note of disbelief that makes Derek wince.

“Yyeaaah,” Stiles drawls. “It’s pretty cool. I mean, he’s a jerk sometimes, but we can all agree that I’m a class-A jerk. So it balances out.”

“What… What about Lydia?”

“Lydia? Dude, never became a thing. We’re friends now, so hey, that’s cool. But the Grand Lydia Martin Ten-Year Plan? Didn’t pan out. She’s dating one of my dad’s deputies now, actually. It’s cool. I kinda like where I am.” Even though he says it flippantly, Stiles’ eyes are narrowed into sharp focus. There’s no one who knows Scott better - at this age, at _any_ age. And Derek can only hope that means he’ll circumvent a meltdown and not do something _stupid._

“How-- but you-- you _hate_ him! You want him _dead_. You tell me that all the time that you wish--”

“Hey, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves here--”

“What did you do to him?” He’s rounded on Derek again, eyes snapping fire.

“What,” he deadpans.

“Hey!” Stiles takes a step between them, actually snapping his fingers to draw Scott’s attention. “Are you saying I couldn’t get Derek on my own? Because that _hurts,_ Scott. I’m utterly _wounded_ , here! And I’ll have you know that I managed to get _both_ of you.”

And _that_ manages to derail Scott. His expression twists in confusion, his mouth going slack. But nothing comes out.

“That’s right,” Stiles continues. “Both of you. Separately, but at the same time. There’s scheduled individual date nights and hang out nights with everyone and you and Derek get time to go commiserate over dating me. It’s a whole _thing_ and it’s pretty awesome.”

Scott… doesn’t seem to think so. In fact, the longer Stiles speaks, the more anger and revulsion clouds the teen’s expression. And Derek, Derek _can’t_ keep quiet any longer. He can’t stand by while Scott treats their relationship like this - or treats Stiles and _Scott’s_ relationship like this. “You have a problem with that?” He doesn’t hear the scathing challenge in his own voice until Stiles shoots him a warning glance. But the damage is already done.

Scott clenches his jaw. “ _Yeah_ I do! Everything’s gotten worse since _you got here_ .” His voice raises sharply. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you to leave my _friends alone!_ There’s no way I’d _ever_ be okay with you and Stiles! I don’t know what you did to make me think-- there’s no way I’d ever want you-- there _isn’t!_ ”

It doesn’t matter how Scott plans to finish that thought. He doesn’t have to. Derek can hear it all as well as if he’s said it aloud and it’s…

It’s everything Derek already knew. But after everything it still…

“Derek,” Stiles calls from much further away.

He blinks, realizing he’s backed away from them. His chest feels tight, like something has closed around his pounding heart. It… doesn’t actually feel that different from being stabbed through the chest with a metal pipe - a memory that isn’t going to fade any time soon. The helplessness, the feeling like he can’t get his lungs to fully expand, it’s the same.

Derek shakes his head before Stiles can say anything this time, and continues to back towards the door. Turning makes his head swim, and Derek isn’t sure if he’s going to lose control, or _break_.

But whatever it is, he doesn’t want it to happen _here_. Not here, in front of them.

He manages to leave the clinic at a walk - to not break into a run until he crosses the street and into the treeline. And then he matches the pounding of his feet to the pounding of his heart, and doesn’t stop.

Not for a long time.

 

\--------------------2---------------------

 

His feet carry him deep into the Preserve. Derek doesn’t know how long he runs, or what direction he’s going in. He just runs until his mind goes blank; until there’s nothing but the burn in his legs and in his lungs. When he finally slows to a stop, it’s in a clearing overlooking the shallow end of the gorge. The stream trickles through, toppling over the sudden dip and down, down into a small pool. It’s a place Derek recognizes, but hasn’t dared to even think about for years.

Derek spent many a day here with his family, in all seasons. The clearing is secluded, isolated from the trails and tucked away into the gorge. His Pack would come out here to camp, to swim, to spend the entire afternoon with the kids chasing each other through the forest. They’d come here to shed their human skins or just to bask on the warm stones as the sun came down from between the trees.

He hasn’t come here since even before the fire. Not since _Paige_. And he’s never told anyone about this place, either. There’s never been a reason to. This place doesn’t hold the same kind of meaning to anyone in his new Pack. Cora didn’t stay long enough to even warrant a trip out. And the idea of coming here with Peter still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

So this place, it’s Derek’s now. And Derek’s alone. Which is just as well, now that the house is gone. This is the only place Derek can feel the connection to his family.

He treks down into the gorge, letting his feet remember the overgrown footpaths. He sinks to the base of a tree at the bottom, huddling between the roots. The instant Derek catches his breath, his thoughts begin swirling all over again. Not even the echo of the gentle falls can drown them out, and there’s nothing to stop Derek from being pulled under. Because he was _right_ : Scott can never be with him.

How could he, when Scott - the sixteen-year-old _boy_ he is currently - is the living proof of every reason they’d never be together? Things between them have been getting steadily better ever since Derek gave up the Alpha spark. But how can Derek ever expect anything when _that_ is their starting point? How could he ever have deluded himself into thinking he could make up for everything he’s done?

How can Scott - at any age - even forgive him, much less _love_ him?

The idea that maybe Scott _hasn’t_ forgiven him sends his heart racing all over again; a painful, fluttering thud against his ribs. His skin feels hot, not unlike shifting. A new wave of fear slams into him, so powerful that his claws shoot out against his palms before he even realizes it’s happened. He knocks his head back against the tree, hard enough his head swims with the pain. It puts him back in control of the shift, at the very least. And then it’s all Derek can do to concentrate on his breathing - on _not_ spiraling into an anxiety attack right there in the middle of the Preserve. The urge to shift into the Wolf prickles against his flesh, but the thought of what he might do without human inhibitions is enough to resist it. The last thing he needs is to go running back to Scott as the Wolf and make this _worse_.

Things don’t get better the longer Derek sits, huddled in the shadow of the tree. He feels cast adrift, his anchor suddenly snatched from his hands. Fighting the shift, fighting _panic_ is a slow, dwindling defeat. Eventually he forces himself to his feet once more, leaving the only remaining place that should bring him peace, but instead only offers sorrow and bitter guilt. Derek has a destination in mind this time, however. It’s what he concentrates on each step, rather than replaying the scene at the clinic over and over again.

It’s not until he’s made his way through the town proper and up the stairs of the apartment building that he lets the guilt slow his pace. He finds himself standing quietly before the door to apartment 3A, the strength to knock gone. He shouldn’t be here. The last thing he needs to do is try to assuage his guilt by going to someone _else_ he’s hurt.

Derek doesn’t have the chance to convince himself to walk away. The door swings open, and Boyd is standing on the other side.

He doesn’t say anything, not even a hello, just takes in the - undoubtedly pathetic - picture Derek makes on his doorstep. Derek tenses as Boyd leans forward and reaches out. But his hand only clasps around the back of his neck, and pulls him over threshold.

There aren’t enough words, in any language, to describe how grateful he is. But Boyd doesn’t seem to mind, just hauls him into the entryway and shuts the door behind them. Erica wanders out of the living area, brows drawn into a worried arch. Erica’s without make-up today, her hair thrown into a messy bun. She’s wearing clothes meant for a day in. They both are, actually. Boyd’s in a soft tank top and sweatpants, and Erica’s wearing gym shorts and one of Boyd’s t-shirts. The apartment smells like caramel popcorn and comfort.

He’s interrupted something.

“I can--” he tries to backpedal.

Erica doesn’t give him the chance. “Don’t even think about it, wolfman.” She marches up to him, shorter now that she’s not in heels, but no less intimidating because of it. He leans back instinctively as Erica crowds into his space, but she stops him with hands cupping his jaw. “Come on,” she urges, drawing him towards the living room.

“I--”

Her eyes flash Beta gold. “ _No_ , Derek. You’re not interrupting anything.”

“...Okay.”

Boyd’s hand stays at his neck, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure to soothe the tense line of his back. “Whatever you need, Derek,” he says, “take it.”

“Do whatever you have to,” Erica echoes, as if both of them can sense how Derek’s buzzing just beneath his skin. Maybe they can.

Derek casts his gaze downward, uncertain. But he can’t deny how much he _needs_ to shift. How much he needs to shed his more human compulsions right now. “Just… don’t let me leave.”

“We won’t,” they promise in tandem. Derek only leaves them once they’ve led him from the foyer, trying not to think about how pathetic he must look slinking into their bathroom. He doesn’t meet his own eyes in the mirror, just looks down and away as he hastily undresses, and folds his clothes neatly. Becoming the Wolf is normally like cool water down his spine, fluid and soothing. Today it’s all dull pain and a burning _tug_ as the Wolf all but bursts out of him. It’s so dizzying that it leaves him swaying on four paws, disoriented.

The pain is a full body ache in this form. All he wants is to go to his Alpha, to go belly up and _beg_ for forgiveness, for recognition, for acceptance. Derek whines, low and sorrowful, pacing up and down the length of the bathroom until he gets a handle on the impulse. The anxiety is manageable now, at least.

He noses out of the bathroom to find Boyd and Erica have moved back to the couch. They’re sitting at opposite ends, which Derek is _sure_ wasn’t how they’d been situated before he got here. But there’s a space between them, just big enough for one werewolf. Erica pats the space between them. “Come up here, big bad.”

Any other day, she would get a growl for that pet name. But all Derek does is whine softly and pad over to them. He hops up between them, carefully maneuvering his lupine body on the old sofa until he finds a comfortable position with his muzzle resting on Boyd’s thigh. He stretches out until his lower half presses up against Erica’s, making her laugh gently.

“Ready for an Indiana Jones marathon?” Erica asks him.

He only huffs in reply. Boyd lays a hand between his ears, fingers absently stroking down his fur until Derek melts under the touch. He just listens as they turn their movie back on, letting their touches and their presence soothe him.

He doesn’t deserve them.

A quiet whine leaves him.

“Hey.” Erica leans over him, the line of her body pressing against his, and presses a kiss to his head. “I don’t know what happened, but we’ve got you. Okay, Derek?”

They have him. He’s safe here, with Pack. It’s that thought that comforts him, letting him doze off between his Packmates.

 

\--------------------3---------------------

 

He wakes up because Boyd’s lifting his head and moving out from under him. His head is passed between hands as Erica takes his place, though, so he doesn’t pay it any attention. Especially not when she picks up stroking his hair.

His… hair.

Oh.

Derek has shifted back in his sleep, which has left him naked on Erica and Boyd’s couch. His hands spasm, acutely aware that not all of his Packmates have his same disregard for nudity. It’s only when he tries to move and gets tangled that he realizes they’ve thrown a blanket over him.  “Whoa, slow down,” Erica says from above him.

“Sorry,” he croaks. He finally opens his eyes, only to find Erica gazing at him with a disapproving frown.

“For what?” she scoffs. “For letting us see how good you look naked? Because that’s no hardship.”

“It really wasn’t.” And Derek _jumps_ , because he hadn’t even realized that _Isaac_ was sitting on the floor next to the couch, watching them while he eats caramel popcorn.

“How long have you been here?” Derek asks. His voice feels thick in his throat, rough with sleep.

Isaac shrugs and tosses another piece into his mouth. “A while. Since the middle of _Temple of Doom._ Boyd called me.”

Which means he’s been asleep for at least three hours, if the paused opening credits of _The Last Crusade_ are anything to go by. “You didn’t have to come over.”

“Of course he did,” Erica says briskly. “When the Alpha needs help, you come running. That’s how it goes.”

The word strikes with all the force of a knife between his ribs. “I’m not--”

“You’re _our_ Alpha, Derek. You’ll always be our Alpha, even when you’re not one anymore.”

Derek turns his face into her thigh, unable to look at her and _especially_ not at Isaac. Of all his Betas, and all the mistakes he made with them, Isaac is the one he hurt the most. He’s the one who was the most vocal of his distrust in the end, and the first to go to Scott’s side - not that Derek begrudges him that. He can’t look and see the disagreement on his face.

“Well,” Isaac says after a moment, crunching on a popcorn kernel, “you _are_ a better Alpha now that you’re, y’know, not one.” His heartbeat is steady.

Derek’s relief is masked only by his annoyed huff. “ _Thanks_ , Isaac,” he growls.

“You know me, I aim to please.”

Boyd returns from the kitchen, a large bowl of fresh popcorn in his hands. “Don’t be a jerk,” he reprimands as he passes by Isaac, playfully swatting at his curls. He doesn’t wait for Isaac to retaliate, only lifting Derek’s legs to slide under them on the couch.

“I can move,” Derek mutters.

“No, you don’t. It’s comfortable here.” He situates Derek’s legs in his lap, and then without a word sets the bowl lightly on Derek’s hip.

Derek sighs, and takes a few pieces. They get comfortable again, with Derek’s head cradled in Erica’s lap, and his feet thrown over Boyd’s. Isaac settles against the couch, in perfect range for Derek to sling an arm around the front of his shoulders, edging forward enough to enclose himself in the smell of Isaac’s shampoo. He’s surrounded by the scent of his Pack - the Pack he chose. The Pack that chose _him_ from the beginning - even if they fractured and came back together.

These three, they’re special.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Erica breaks the peaceful silence after a while.

“No,” he grunts.

“It’s about what’s going on with Scott, isn’t it.”

“I said _no_ , Erica.”

She sniffs and falls silent. She doesn’t try to ask again, but Derek can hear her pick up her phone and start tapping away. Derek’s heart sinks. He knows exactly what she’s up to. He waits as her phone buzzes at periodic intervals, only half paying attention as Doctor Jones wades through the Venetian catacombs. Eventually, Erica utters an affronted noise.

“Scott’s a _dick,_ ” she snarls.

“No, he’s not--” It’s not just Derek, but all three men in the room that answer her.

Erica rolls her eyes. “ _All_ of you, seriously.”

“He’s _not_ ,” Derek insists. “He’s…”

“He’s sixteen again. Yeah, I got that. And still stuck in every shitty thing that was happening back then. I remember how bad it was. _Vividly._ But that doesn’t mean he still can’t be a dick about it.”

Not for the first time in the past three years, Derek feels himself getting _defensive_ over Scott McCall. “He’s right, though,” he says, jaw clenching around the words.

Boyd squeezes his calf hard enough to grab Derek’s attention. “ _No_ , he’s not.”

He fights back a groan of frustration. “You don’t even know what I--”

“I know you,” Boyd says, “and I’ve known Scott since then. I can guess. And he’s not right. He doesn’t even _know_ you anymore, Derek. He only remembers you from back then. And none of us were at our best back then. Not even him.”

Derek… doesn’t know how to argue that one. He can’t even work up the energy to try. He tugs the blanket higher around his chest, curling into it. “Whatever,” he grumbles.

He knows better than to expect it to end there. As soon as the room falls back into silence, Erica goes back to her phone and Isaac pulls out his. Even Boyd leans across the couch above Derek, gesturing for Erica to show him. He meets Derek’s betrayed glare with an small, unrepentant grin and a shrug.

“Alright,” Isaac blurts after a few minutes. “Scott’s a dick.” He holds his phone higher and reads, “Allison says: ‘Scott and Stiles came over. Went to say hello and Scott almost kissed me. Guess he’s having a hard time adjusting. Awkward.’ You think I can throw _him_ into a wall this time? I’ve got some payback due.” Derek can hear the mean little smirk in his voice, but his joke does nothing to ease the ice forming around Derek’s lungs. He sits up quickly, the blanket dislodging from around his hips.

“I’m gonna get dressed,” he mutters. He beats a hasty retreat into the bathroom, but instead of getting dressed he rifles through his jeans for his phone as soon as the door shuts behind him.

There’s seventeen unread texts, and three missed calls. His heart sinks into his feet.

_Hey, he didn’t mean any of that._   
_Derek, you know Scott. You remember what he was like at 16._   
_He jumped to conclusions when he was scared and angry._   
_Derek, come on._   
_It’s okay, I swear._   
_Just be safe._   
_Okay, so, Deaton can’t fix it right away. Has to do more research. The spell’s stable again, though. Said something about it was like hitting a snag when trying to untangle something - I dunno. It’s a bunch of metaphors about weaving. I can’t keep fuckin’ track._   
_So I’m taking Scott out around town._   
_He asked why I was still driving Roscoe after three years. HAHA FUCK YOU TOO, BUDDY._   
_The town basically looks the same to him. Yay for small towns, right?_   
_We got to the old town square. His eyes about popped out of his skull when he saw the memorial and the subtle Hale Triskele. It still looks good, by the way. Great investment._   
_And there he goes about you again._   
_Derek this, Derek that. Why is Derek still here? What’s Derek been doing? He can’t believe you’re all Pack. Why would DEREK want to be Pack?_   
_He’s OBSESSING over you again. Still. It’s always been that way.  
He wants to go see Allison. So I guess that’s what we’re doing._

Derek fumbles with the phone, clothes forgotten in his haste.

 _I’m sorry._  
_I’m at Boyd and Erica’s. I just needed some time. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.  
_ _Are you okay?_

The response is immediate, and Derek isn’t sure if that makes him feel better or worse.

_Don’t apologize for needing to be somewhere else._

_I should’ve been with you._

_No, you should’ve been where you felt SAFE. And we both know that wasn’t here._

Derek clenches a hand around the phone, staring at it in hopes that it will give him an _answer_ . Endless apologies run through his mind, but Stiles obviously doesn’t want them. There’s nothing else he can say to comfort him if it’s not an apology. Because this is his fault. Of course it is. Everything from the way Scott thinks of him to the Scott even _being_ in this situation in the first place.

And he has no idea how to fix it. Or even if he can.

_Can I come over tonight?_

_Yes. Of course you can._

It’s something, at least.

 

\--------------------4---------------------

 

Stiles doesn’t make it to the loft until nearly eleven. Even with his periodic texts about having dinner with the Sheriff and Melissa, and hanging out with Scott after, it still leaves Derek a live wire of barely suppressed nerves. By the time he hears Stiles’ Jeep pull up to the building, he doesn’t have the energy to act casual. He doesn’t have the energy for much at all, really.

So he refuses to feel ashamed for standing by the door and waiting for Stiles to make it up the stairs.

Stiles is alone. Scott’s staying with Melissa tonight, in the bedroom that is still technically his, and it almost makes Derek feel guilty to be thankful for it. But Stiles looks as exhausted as Derek feels, his eyes glazed and his shoulders slumped, and he knows it’s for the best.

“Hey,” he sighs.

“Hey,” Derek replies softly. He meets Stiles halfway as the younger man reaches for him, gathering him up in his arms and holding him tight to his chest. Probably using more strength than he should, but Stiles isn’t complaining and Derek doesn’t want to let go. Stiles clutches at the back of his shirt, taking a deep, shuddering breath, melting into him as he exhales. Stiles doesn’t say anything after that, just presses his face into Derek’s shoulder and clings to him. Which is a bad thing, Stiles being silent. Even exhausted, Stiles is never _silent_ . It’s only when his thoughts turn inward that he stops talking. And that’s… Derek has learned that’s never a good thing. Stiles doesn’t think about _good things_ when he does this.

“Hey,” Derek says again. He nudges them back, a hint towards getting his boyfriend to come to bed. “Come on.” He steps back, only to have Stiles literally drag his feet along the floor. He sighs, though not unkindly, and dips to lift his lanky form up into his arms. Stiles’ legs wind around his hips, the grip around his shoulders tightening. Once they get to the bed, at least, it’s easy to set Stiles back on his feet. He’s _pliant_ , which is more than a little alarming.

Derek cups Stiles’ face in both hands, thumbs tracing over the angles of his cheekbones. Stiles leans into it and his eyes flutter closed. But it doesn’t make him look any less troubled. The pinch is still there between his brows. Derek leans in and kisses him, just tilts his head up and brings their lips together because he doesn’t know how to _fix everything_ , but this, _this_ is something he can do. And Stiles doesn’t exactly melt, but the tension in him eases. Just a little. Just enough.

Stiles’ lips part in a soft sigh against his. Hands fist in his shirt, drawing him in for more, turning the warm brush of lips into a deeper kiss. But neither of them try for more, instead just holding each other there, breath mingling as they exchange sweet kisses.

The vice-like grip of sorrow and dread around Derek’s heart softens.

It’s not until Derek is pushing the hoodie off his shoulders that Stiles actually speaks. “Derek, I dunno know if…” Derek feels the whine against his mouth rather than hears it, it’s so breathy. “I don’t think I can tonight. I want to, but… can we just go to bed?”

He asks it so quietly, as if he expects to be rebuked for it. Derek’s throat closes tight. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah, of course we can. Stiles…” He noses at the hard line of Stiles’ jaw, hoping that the affectionate touch will succeed where words have failed him. It seems to. Stiles sinks into his embrace, letting Derek nuzzle against his throat while they fumble to undress. He leaves Stiles in his t-shirt and boxers, and stops Stiles from undressing him further once he’s down to his tank top and his shorts. Usually he sleeps in less, if anything at all. But tonight… tonight the extra barrier is a comforting reminder that they’re just going to sleep.

They pull each other into bed, all but dragging each other towards the pillows, only to collapse with near identical sighs of relief. Once they squirm under the sheets, Stiles immediately curls into his arms. He tucks himself up under Derek’s chin, throwing a leg over his and just entangles himself around him. And Derek can’t complain, especially not now. He presses his nose into Stiles’ hair, breathing in deep, letting his scent soothe the day’s pain away. Even if Stiles smells like exhaustion and barely suppressed misery.

It’s quiet for several minutes, the two of them just taking comfort in the other’s embrace. And then Stiles clears his throat. “Don’t give up on him.”

He sighs. “Stiles…”

“No, m’serious.” Stiles scoots back a few inches, enough to turn those soulful eyes on him. The moonlight hits them perfectly, making them glint warm honey gold. “We promised we wouldn’t give up on this. We’ve lived through _hell_ and… fuck, we’ve made some terrible fucking decisions. But this wasn’t one of them. We swore we wouldn’t give up, no matter how hard it got.”

“That was about sharing you. Not about us.”

“It’s _always_ been about the two of you. Just because you two--” he groans, low and frustrated. “ _God_ , all I’ve wanted was for the two of you to stop being so _stupid_ over this. So you can be happy and I can… I can…” Stiles flinches in horror, and quickly reverts his eyes.

“Can?” Derek prompts. But Stiles only worries at his lip. He can see the younger man closing off, can see the diversion forming in his mind. “Don’t,” he says. “Tell me.”

Stiles jumps, as if Derek has somehow read his mind instead of just _knowing_ him and how he thinks. “I…” Derek waits, lets him sort through his words. “So I can stop being afraid of you two tossing me out when you realize how _good_ you are together,” he finishes at a whisper.

“ _Never_ ,” Derek tells him fiercely. “That’s _never_ going to happen.” He brings up a hand to cup the back of Stiles’ neck, squeezing in what he hopes is reassurance. Stiles doesn’t look at him, silent disbelief coming off him in waves. His scent has gone anxious, and Derek has a sudden, desperate urge to make it go away _however he can._ It makes voicing his own worries, ones that he’s never dared to speak, come easy. “...Every time we get into a fight,” he admits, “I think that’s it. That you’ll leave and never come back.”

“What?” Stiles gasps. “Why would--”

“Because you’ve already got someone _better_ . Why would you waste your time here?” He meets Stiles’ eyes; sees the same rawness he feels reflected in them. He can’t bring himself to continue, and perhaps he doesn’t have to. There’s understanding in Stiles’ eyes, and an emotion that Derek can’t readily name, that’s soft and heartbreaking all at the same time. It makes something feather-light and warm bloom in his belly, his heart fluttering almost painfully. And that’s… yes, suddenly, Derek _knows_ . He knows this is his chance. The words spring to the tip of his tongue, held there by a moment’s indecision. An anxious tremor works down his spine. It’s thrilling and _terrifying_ , but he knows if he doesn’t say it now, he may never have the courage to do it again.

“I love you,” he breathes all at once.

It’s an immediate relief, to finally get the words out. A weight lifts from his chest, like for the first time since… as long as Derek can _remember_ he can _breathe again_ . It’s dizzying - _exhilarating_.

Suddenly Stiles is leaning above him, expression cracked open and nothing short of awed. “ _Derek_ ,” he chokes. “You-- _you--_ ” He flounders, struck momentarily speechless. Derek smiles. “ _God_ , you… say it again?”

“I love you,” he repeats, the thrill of it running straight down to his toes. His next confession is muffled by Stiles’ mouth on his.

“Me too,” he chants, “me too, me too, _god_ I love you too-- so much, Der--” He cuts off in a watery laugh, that Derek quickly smothers in a breathless kiss.

His face hurts from grinning. Actually _hurts._

He pulls Stiles down into his arms, tucking him close to his chest. He’s not the only one who’s shaking, and he can’t tell if it’s from joy or nerves or exhaustion or pure hysteria. He’s bone tired and energized all at once. “Sorry I didn’t make it romantic,” he says. But even the knowledge that there was no gesture behind his confession can’t dim the euphoria. It’s imperfectly perfect.

“Don’t,” Stiles crows, pressing soft, ecstatic kisses to his jaw. “Don’t. You can just say it again when I do the whole romantic dinner thing.”

“ _Romantic dinner thing_ ,” he parrots.

“Yeah. Surprise you with a candlelit dinner. Or take you out onto the lookout point and have a romantic picnic under the stars. Or take you to a fancy restaurant. I never got to decide. I was still working up the courage to do the big romantic declaration.”

“Oh.” Derek can’t find the words to describe the soft warmth in his chest.

“So we can do it all again then, right?” He tilts his head into the pillow - his pillow, the one he’s been leaving here since they came back from Berkeley for the summer - looking so heartbreakingly happy and soft.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees. He leans in to press a nuzzled kiss to Stiles’ cheek. His boyfriend lets out a hum so deep it’s nearly a purr. The fatigue is finally getting to him, this one last peak in the day’s roller coaster of emotions pushing him over the edge. The long line of his body relaxes, sags against Derek’s chest, melting into him further and further with every second. He’s going to fall asleep soon. “Stiles?” he calls softly.

“Mm?”

“Thank you. ...For everything.”

“Mm,” Stiles answers, “sure. Sleep now, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” he sighs, and settles down into the comforting warmth of his sleepy lover.

 

\--------------------5---------------------

  
  
Derek snaps out of a dead sleep, mind struggling to kick into consciousness because _there’s someone standing outside the loft._

The clock on the bedside table reads 3:41 AM, and the building is generally quiet, save for Stiles’ steady heartbeat beside him, and the nervous flutter of the heartbeat outside the door. Stiles is a heavy weight against him, sound asleep and peaceful but for the occasional nonsensical mumble. In his sleep Stiles has done his best to entangle them, legs threading through Derek’s and his hands working their way up his tank top. It’s warm and comfortable and leaving Stiles’ embrace is the last thing Derek wants to do. For the briefest of moments he considers just pretending he hasn’t noticed, and waiting until the intruder leaves.

It’s not going to happen. He knows better. He knows _exactly_ who’s on the other side of his door.

Heaving a sigh, Derek untangles himself from his slumbering boyfriend. Stiles huffs and mutters as he carefully repositions his sprawling limbs, but doesn’t wake. Derek sits at the edge of the bed, gazing at the door, dread filling him the longer he waits. But still he finds himself padding barefoot across the loft. The heartbeat on the other side races faster and faster the closer he gets until it’s thundering loud enough to alert any shifter in the area. Derek steels himself, and then reaches to pull the door open.

Scott, he is unashamedly pleased to see, looks just as uncomfortable as Derek is. Scott at this age is awful at hiding anything, and his entire form is radiating not just anger, but shame and embarrassment so thick Derek can almost taste it. In fact, his eyes seem to be focusing on anything _but_ Derek, constantly flicking towards his face, his shoulders, his torso, his bare legs, and away again. His cheeks, even in the dark, are clearly pink.

Oh Christ, he can’t handle this right now.

“Scott,” he grunts.

Being short with him is obviously wrong. Wrong, wrong, _wrong_ , but since when can Derek ever do anything _right_ with Scott? The teenager’s jaw works, his body tensing defensively. Derek expects him to shout, to argue - seeing as that’s all he and Scott ever did when Scott was sixteen. But instead Scott just looks at his feet and reluctantly says, “I… followed Stiles’ scent here.”

Derek’s brows shoot up. “You weren’t very good at that at sixteen.”

Scott just shrugs. “Guess there are some things that carried over from… normal me.”

An awkward silence falls between them. Derek… Derek isn’t sure why Scott’s even _here_ , much less how to handle this. He’s too tired to hurt, or to even feel angry.

“So I… I couldn’t sleep,” Scott admits after long stretch of just standing in Derek’s hallway. “I know I told him I wanted to sleep at home. But it feels… wrong not being with Stiles. Not just because we’re supposed to be dating? I can’t explain it.”

“It’s because you’re Pack,” Derek tells him. The boy flinches at his voice, as if he’d forgotten Derek was even there. “You’re practically Mated.”

Scott’s mouth goes slack for an instant. “That’s… a thing? _Really_?”

“Yes, Scott.”

“Do _they_ know it’s a thing? Stiles and… adult me?”

And Derek doesn’t know how to answer that one, so he just shrugs. It’s not something any of the younger ‘wolves have ever asked about, and there’s never been _a good time_ to bring it up anyway. It’s not as if Derek can sit them all down and teach them about old marriage rites. (He imagined doing it once, and quickly abandoned the idea when not-Stiles uttered the words “werewolf married.”)

This, surprise, surprise, is also something Scott obviously doesn’t want to hear. “You’ve been keeping it from us?” he hisses.

“No, Scott,” he snaps, “I haven’t been _keeping it_ from you. It’s never come up.” The energy to argue has long since left Derek, so he cuts off the boy’s next attack with a wave towards the bed. “Just... go to Stiles.”

Scott blinks. “Huh?”

“Go,” Derek repeats slowly. “To Stiles.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “That’s what you wanted.”

“But it’s…”

“Scott, it’s nearly four in the morning. Either get in here or leave. I’m not asking again.”

The boy’s mouth clicks shut. He ducks past Derek without looking at him, scurrying across the room. It’s not until he reaches the bed that he falters, tripping over their discarded clothes and jumping back like he expects them to come alive and bite him. Derek can see how uncomfortable the sight makes him in the line of his back; in the barest clench of his hands. He watches Scott closely, pessimistically waiting for the thing that’s eventually going to set the boy off. But after a moment, Scott shrugs off his hoodie and kicks off his sneakers, climbing into the bed in his basketball shorts and tank top. He’s taking slow, careful breaths through his mouth, Derek notices. Does the scent of the bed - of Derek and Stiles - disgust him? Or does the idea of what he might smell sicken him so much that he won’t even attempt it?

No. No. Even considering it makes pain bloom behind Derek’s eyes. The headache is there and gone, but the jolt is more than enough. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. All he wants to do is _sleep_ and hope things aren’t worse in the morning.

The instant Scott settles under the covers and against Stiles’ side, the other boy jolts awake. “Ssc’tty?” he slurs, even before his brain catches up. Because of course he does. Derek has at least gotten him to the point where he’ll only half-wake and grumble at him, but anyone else would’ve gotten an elbow to the face for touching him like that. Anyone but Scott, who he knows even when unconscious.

“Hi…” Scott murmurs.

Stiles lifts his head from the pillow, shifting to gaze at Scott with bleary eyes. “Wh’t’re you… doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits.

That has Stiles leaning up on his elbow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just…” Scott sighs. “I’m sorry about today. With Allison.”

“You… huh? No, _no_ , Scotty--”

“ _No,_ ” Scott interrupts roughly. “It was stupid. I… to her we broke up years ago. I’m supposed to be with you now. You told me that and I _still_ …” His frustration is palpable.

Stiles is quiet for a moment, visibly mulling over his next words. “You love her,” he says softly. “I mean you still do, in a lot of ways. Even if you - the adult you - loves me now. She’s always gonna be special to you. I knew it when we were sixteen. I know it now.”

There’s a difference between knowing - accepting - and not caring, is what Stiles doesn’t say. But Derek can hear it behind his words. It’s not something he’s going to tell Scott - ever. And that’s a power that few have. Stiles is vindictive by nature, able to petty and stubborn over the tiniest offense - even with Scott. But when it comes to the things that actually _hurt_ , there are few people Stiles loves to the point of keeping silent about it. Scott is the first on that list. And then his father. And then Malia.

Derek knows he’s not one of them. He’s accepted that. But after their talk earlier… now he wonders if maybe, _maybe_ someday he will be.

“Yeah, but… I love you too,” he nearly misses Scott saying. “I’ve always loved you, y’know?”

Stiles’ breath catches. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re my Stiles.”  Scott’s smile is a gentle, hesitant thing. So shy and sweet that it doesn’t matter to Derek that it’s not directed at him. Just seeing it is enough to make his heart ache.  “I’m glad I’m with you.” He pauses. “Will be with you? I mean, I’m not… like a time traveller, but I’m not--”

“Yeah, magic is weird,” Stiles agrees. It does nothing to hide his delighted little squirm.

They gaze at each other, content.

“Stiles?” Scott breaks the silence after a moment.

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Derek shuts his eyes.

“You-- yeah? Yeah, are you… sure? I mean, you’re different and we’re not technically together from your uh… standpoint. We don’t have to.”

He hears the rustle of sheets, of Scott moving across the bed to close the distance. Then there’s a hitch of breath, the slick slide of lips. Derek knows what awaits him when he opens his eyes - prepares himself for the cold sting.

But the two of them are tangled so sweetly on his bed, looking for all the world like they _belong there._ Their kisses are just this side of chaste, or as chaste as either of the two of them can ever manage. Scott has his hands cupped around Stiles’ jaw, and Stiles is doing his best to draw Scott in. They’ve completely forgotten he’s even here. It’s a bitter realization, but he can’t begrudge them even when envy burns in his chest.

Derek turns away. Even with how heartsick the sight makes him, interrupting them is the last thing he wants. No, he’ll go lick his wounds on the couch, and try to make it to morning without letting the hopelessness creep in again.

He barely makes it past the room divider (bought on Lydia’s imperious suggestion) before Stiles’ voice stops him. “Derek!”

Derek falters to a stop, and turns to look at him. Stiles is sitting up a little farther in bed, Scott still curled against him. The boy’s presence, seemingly, is the only thing that’s keeping Stiles from leaping from the bed. Scott’s peering at him, too, from under his lashes, trying not to make it obvious and failing miserably.

“Where’re you going?” Stiles asks. Derek gestures vaguely towards the couch, the only thing he can do. He doesn’t have to say a word for Stiles’ expression to turn stormy. “No way, dude. Get back here.”

He can’t be serious. “Stiles…”

“You’re not getting kicked out of your own _bed_ by us. This is a king, there’s plenty of room.” Beside him, Scott bristles. But a quick, not-so-discreet, elbow from Stiles silences any protest.

Derek would laugh, because that’s a lie if there ever was one. The bed wasn’t even big enough for him, Stiles, and _seven-year-old Scott_ once the two of them started getting mobile. But he knows Stiles, and that’s not the face of an innocent observation.

No, Stiles, love him though Derek does, is an _asshole_. And a pushy one at that. Toeing the line is what he does best. And Derek would be stupid to think that his boyfriend has just forgotten about his plan to get him and Scott to do… something.

“Stop giving me that look and get your butt in here, _sourwolf._ ”

Derek rolls his eyes at the nickname with as much force as he can muster. It’s one Stiles only reserves for maximum annoyance, and it does the job. Every time. But the siren calls of his bed and Stiles’ warmth are too much for even his discomfort. _‘It’s_ **_my bed_ ** _,’_ he thinks mutinously. _‘I’m allowed to sleep in my bed, with my boyfriend.’_ That’s what drives him back to the bed, climbing in on Stiles’ other side. He keeps his eyes averted, not daring to look Scott’s way.

It’s the last show of defiance, sliding in next to Stiles and hooking an arm over his waist. The shift in the bed might be his imagination. Or it might be Scott arching away, unwilling to have Derek anywhere near him. He doesn’t want to consider it, and instead settles down with his eyes firmly shut.

There’s a tense silence.

“So, this is cozy,” Stiles says.

“Stiles…” It shouldn’t surprise him to hear Scott’s voice joining his own, but Derek still flinches. He cracks open an eye, only to find Scott peering at him from over Stiles’ body. Great.

“Please don’t stare at each other all night,” Stiles pleads. “It’s creepy. I can’t sleep through creepy.” They shift guiltily, turning their faces away to avoid eye contact. Between them, Stiles sighs and squirms into a more comfortable position. “The awkward silence isn’t helping either.”

“Stiles,” Derek bites out, “just… go to sleep.”

“Then stop being all awkward werewolf.”

“I would if you’d _stop bringing it up._ ”

“This hasn’t changed much,” Scott interrupts them in a drowsy mumble.

There’s a beat, before Stiles cranes his head up to answer. “Nah, now the bickering just ends in sex.”

Derek waits for the disgust to come flooding off Scott in waves. He waits for the exaggerated gagging, for the demands to not ever talk about Derek and sex in the same sentence. But Scott just frowns, and curls closer against Stiles’ back. He’s shorter now, slighter. Even from this perspective he looks so oddly small against Stiles. “Not while I’m here,” he says at last, joking weakly.

Stiles’ eyes spark mischievously. Derek reaches up and clamps a hand over his boyfriend’s mouth before he can destroy this tentative truce with his response. “ _No,_ ” he deadpans. “Go to sleep.”

“ _Fine_ ,” he grouses. There’s more shuffling, more Stiles seeking revenge than actually trying to get comfortable. He even knees Derek a couple of times for good measure. Derek waits it out with only a stony frown, and shifts his hold on Stiles once he stills. “You go to sleep too, okay?”

 _‘That’s not going to happen,’_ he thinks bitterly, but nods anyway.

 

\--------------------6---------------------

   
Derek sleeps, but not well. He spends the next four hours shuddering in and out of dozing, jumping at the slightest movement of his bedmates, always expecting to find Scott glaring at him from across the bed. Stiles oscillates between the two of them in the night, seeking out their warmth before seeming to change his mind less than an hour later. It doesn’t help.

When the sun’s streaming through the window behind him, Derek gives up. He levers himself out of bed as quietly as he can, rubbing the exhausted ache from his eyes. He throws on some sweatpants and goes to brush his teeth, and is only reminded that he hasn’t eaten since the popcorn at Boyd and Erica’s the day before when his stomach lets out a ravenous growl.

Right. Breakfast. For him and the boys, when they drag themselves out of bed.

After taking care of seven-year-old Scott, there’s an abundance of groceries in the loft. Enough for french toast, and even with caramelized apples. It’s definitely not a tentative peace offering. Even if apples are Scott’s favorites.

He hears the change in Scott’s heartbeat long before he gets up. It goes from the steady, content thrum to a nervous flutter, and then starts to race as socked feet pad across the loft. Derek keeps his focus on the stove, willing his shoulders not to tense, reminding himself not to squeeze his hand around the stem of the frying pan until it gives beneath his grip.

It’s difficult to keep that in mind when Scott comes to stand by the open kitchen, and silently watches him work. It stretches on so long that Derek starts to wonder if he should say something. Would Scott appreciate a good morning? Should Derek just ask him to wake up Stiles and leave him alone?

“Stiles says you love me.”

Derek pauses his stirring. The apples sizzle in the pan. The sound hopefully covers the fact that he’s stopped breathing. He can’t… he can’t lie to that. It’s pointless. His heart is already tripping over itself at the _thought_ of lying. Instead he plays the silent card, aggressively flipping the apples in the pan, before setting it onto a different burner to cool.

Scott doesn’t take the hint, or just completely ignores it, and keeps talking. “He says I love you too. But I don’t… see how that’s true. It can’t. I don’t see how _any_ of that could ever be true.”

At the very least, it’s not the hateful rejection that Derek’s been expecting ( _envisioning for so long_ ). But it _is_ a rejection, and Derek can’t help the way his throat goes tight and his eyes burn. “Me either,” he replies quietly, trying to mask the way his voice hitches over the words.

Scott jumps, actually takes a step back. “Are you-- Are you _crying_?” he asks in horrified whisper. His voice ramps up at the end in that hysterical crack, the way it always used to when they fought. When Scott was constantly on the edge of breaking down.

Derek breathes deeply, forces his emotions back down. “ _No_ ,” he says through gritted teeth. He turns back to the counter, and starts putting the toast batter together.

The silence is deafening. Scott’s eyes are on him, like a phantom burn against his spine.

“I’ll stay out of the way,” Derek promises. “You and Stiles need each other. So I’ll leave you alone.” He doesn’t specify if he means until Scott returns to normal, or forever.

He doesn’t dare think about that.

\--------------------7---------------------  
 

Derek spends the next week waiting for the inevitable. The bond tethering him to Scott, to his Alpha, is going to break. With every day it stretches thinner, threatening to snap and cast him back into being an Omega all over again. He can feel it. He wonders every morning when he’s going to wake up and feel the hollow isolation that only ‘wolves without a Pack know. By week’s end, he’s tense and anxious, preferring to stay as far away from any member of their Pack.

He gets texts from Stiles every day, mostly to tell him how stupid he thinks Derek’s being. And Derek never ignores him, but he doesn’t let Stiles win, or let him visit the loft. He needs to be there for Scott, and if Stiles is constantly smelling like _Derek_ , then it’s not going to help anyone.

At least that’s what he tells himself.

It all proves to be for nothing when he receives a text one afternoon:

_Scott’s gone missing._

It’s not Stiles’ usual roundabout explanation and _damnit_ he knows exactly what he’s doing, using the least information possible to get Derek’s attention. He can’t help but imagine the worst. He stares at his phone, hardly daring to breathe and heart in his throat, until Stiles finally continues.

_No scent of any magic or witches. We think he just ran off. I need you to find him._

Derek sighs in relief.

_You don’t need me for that. Any of the other ‘wolves can find him._

Already tried that. Malia could track him into the Preserve but lost him.  
_We tried the old house. And the overlook. Nothing.  
_ You’re the best damned tracker we’ve got, Derek. Time to suck it up.

“Time to--” Derek growls. “Asshole.”

 _Having me there isn’t going to help anything.  
_ _Stop trying to shove us together. It’s only going to make things worse._

It’s not a surprise when his phone rings seconds after sending the text. Derek rolls his eyes, but answers anyway.

“ _Will you_ **_stop with that?_ ** _”_ Stiles growls at him without greeting. _“He doesn’t hate you_ **_nearly_ ** _as much as you think he does. He’s_ **_never_ ** _hated you. Okay? You were suspicious and a dick and Scott didn’t like it. And look, maybe he was even mad at you sometimes. But he doesn’t hate you.”_

Derek… doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know how to _believe_ that.

_“Listen, dude, Scott needs your help.”_

He’s so fucked.

“...Okay.”

 

\--------------------8---------------------

 

Picking up Scott’s trail is an easy thing, because Derek actually knows how to use his senses in harmony, rather than focusing on scent. It’s so easy, in fact, that Derek makes a mental note to drill the entire Pack on how to track their own damned Alpha. His scent gets muddled the deeper into the Preserve Derek goes, but the pull between Alpha and Beta helps pick up the slack, instinct pointing Derek in right direction.

His instinct also tells him exactly what he’s heading for, and it makes bitterness roil in his belly.

The Nemeton has always had a special connection to Scott. It’s always _called_ to him. From the subconscious symbolism behind his tattoo all the way back to the night Scott was Bitten. So it’s no surprise that Scott’s ended up here.

The latent magic sizzles along Derek’s skin as he steps into the Nemeton’s clearing. It’s no longer bone chilling and _hungry_ , after they busted their asses cleansing it last year. Growth is coming back to the grove now, and there’s even the beginnings of a sapling poking out from the cracks in the stump. But even with the sentient, over-important tree rejuvenated, it’s still _unnerving._

It _knows_ Derek. _Remembers him._

A gentle breeze sweeps through the clearing, brushing over him like a caress. A welcome. An affectionate gesture to the one that gave it its first sacrifice in decades.

He hates it.

He hates being here.

And yet, he can’t help but press a hand to the Nemeton’s stump as he nears. It thrums under his hand, the steady flow of magic eerily resembling a heartbeat. Derek imagines, lets himself for a brief instant, that just maybe there’s still some part of Paige in there. That in her death the Nemeton had somehow… kept apart of her with it. It’s a silly idea; too naive.

And then he jumps, because there’s small tendril of vine trying to wind around his finger while he’s been spacing out, like a magically fertilized creeper vine. Derek jerks his hand away, stares at it, and then the plant for just a moment longer. And then he hurries down into the root cellar.

He can’t bring himself to hope.

He doesn’t bother sneaking down the rickety stairwell. Scott had to know he was here the moment he stepped into the clearing. The boy is sitting under the canopy of the Nemeton’s roots, back hunched where he’s curled in on himself. The scene tickles at Derek’s memory, an unsettling familiarity.

His arrival goes unacknowledged. Scott doesn’t say anything - doesn’t even lift his head. And Derek…

Derek has no idea what he’s supposed to do.

Stiles picked the wrong person for this.

They stand in complete silence for several minutes. Motionless. Derek can’t think of anything to say. He’s not even sure Scott wants him to say anything. So he waits for Scott.

Eventually Scott does speak, his voice barely above a whisper. “They all… they all expect me to be something that I’m not.”

Derek frowns. Scott’s been reintroduced to the Pack over the last week, he knows from Stiles. But aside from some minor awkwardness, it had gone well as far as Derek had heard. “....You’re their Alpha, Scott. Their friend. You’re important to them.”

“I don’t _know_ any of them!” Scott cries sharply. He finally lifts his head to glare at Derek. His face is tense, jawline clenched, brows drawn down over his eyes. He looks ready to snap, his eyes flickering red in the gloom. “I… I don’t even know _Stiles._ Not really. Not this Stiles. I’m not an Alpha. I’m barely even a fucking _werewolf_. I’ve only been bitten for a few weeks and they expect me--”

“They don’t expect anything.”

“That’s _bullshit_ and you know it!” This time his shout is half a roar, sending an instinctive chill down Derek’s spine.

Now this, _this_ Derek understands.  The sorrow, the frustration, the anxiety that has nowhere to go but inward until it starts eating away at you. Derek has spent a whole lifetime wondering if one day he isn’t just going to just collapse in on himself. He’d kept so much bottled up for so long, until it came full circle and it felt like there was nothing in him at all.

And he knows exactly how to help Scott. This, at least, is something he’s always been able to offer. Even if it makes him an asshole.

It’s not like Scott going to like him any less at this point.

“What I know is that you’re sitting here wallowing in your own self-pity, too caught up in your own problems to care about anything else!” The words hurt even as they’re coming out of his mouth, too personal. Too close to home. But it does exactly what Derek wants it to do. Scott lets out a deafening roar and leaps from beneath the Nemeton’s roots. Derek stands his ground, planting his feet as his half-shifted Alpha comes barreling towards him. The collision rattles his bones, his feet skidding in the cellar’s dirt floor. Scott is all rage and more strength than he knows how to handle, razor sharp fangs and gleaming red eyes.

But he’s clumsy. Reckless. His claws may scrape gouges into Derek’s arms, but it’s easy to use his momentum against him and send him crashing into the cellar wall. It stuns him long enough for Derek to get some space and footing between them, and then Scott is launching at him again. They grapple for a few minutes, throwing each other around the tiny space, trying to gain the upper hand over each other. Scott slashes blindly at him with his claws, a snarl heavy on his mouth.

But it’s barely a flare of pain, not even a fraction of what he knows Scott’s can unleash. And damnit, even enraged, Scott is so _unwilling_ to hurt him. Even when it’s obvious that he wants to.

It pisses Derek off.

He kicks Scott’s legs out from under him, using his weight to send Scott crashing to the floor, getting right up in his face and roaring at him in a way that would send any Alpha into a frenzy. It works _too_ well. Scott’s eyes flare bright in the gloom, his shout more animal than human and it makes Derek flinch. It makes the Beta in him cower, long enough for Scott to plant a knee in his stomach and throw him off. He hits the ground hard, and isn’t even given a chance to breathe before Scott is grabbing him up by the collar and slamming him against the Nemeton’s roots with such force that something cracks. Derek isn’t sure if it’s the roots or his _bones._

The breath is gone from his lungs, which doesn’t make the burning pain in his chest any easier to endure. Scott’s hand fisted in his shirt is the only thing keeping him upright. But Scott has finally been pushed over the edge. His skin is growing darker, more feral. It makes Derek want to bare his throat and submit. But no, that’s not what this is about. So he closes his eyes, and waits for Scott to shake him, hit him, _something_.

Nothing happens.

The pain is fading, too quickly to be his own healing. He opens his eyes to find Scott reining in the shift, until all that’s left are his eyes and the fangs that are poking out over his lip. His expression crumples in pain that has nothing to do with draining Derek’s aches, his red eyes suddenly glassy. Panic rises in Derek’s throat, because Scott looks ready to cry and that… no. _No._

“I hurt you. I-I’m sorry…” It comes out in a whimper, and it’s the worst sound that Derek has ever heard.

“Scott,” he rasps hoarsely. “It’s okay--”

“ _No_. Nothing is--” He chokes on a sob, and Derek’s panic ramps up a few more notches into quiet _hysteria_ . “ _Nothing’s_ okay!” He ducks his head, trying to hide his face, but Derek can smell the salt of his tears. Scott starts to shake, breaking down in front of him and Derek has _no idea what to do._

“Scott--”

His Alpha shakes his head quickly.

“Okay…” Derek throws caution to the wind, sliding an arm around Scott’s shoulders and tugging him close, for lack of any other idea. It seems to be the right choice - finally _the right choice_ \- because Scott sags against him and starts to sob quietly. “Okay,” he repeats. It’s more to reassure himself than it is for Scott. “It’s… I’ve got you.”

The words feel silly on this tongue. Pointless. Unwanted. But he means them.

If anything, Scott presses closer, body racked with one massive shudder. Derek pulls him in tighter, as if to physically keep Scott from shaking apart in his arms.

“This sucks,” he gasps wetly after a few moments. “I t-thought you said the Bite was a gift.”

“It’s supposed to be,” Derek whispers back, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Scott sniffles, and rubs his cheek absently against Derek’s shirt. Despite everything, it makes warmth bloom in Derek’s chest, and there’s no way Scott misses the way his heart jumps. But when there’s no reprimand or even a reaction, he lets himself relax, even rub a hand soothingly up and down Scott’s spine. It’s surreal to be like this. Scott at nineteen is more affectionate, more prone to friendly touches with him. But never like this. Any comfort he’s ever sought from Derek has been in words rather than physical.

But Scott all but clings to him now as his tears and shaking slowly work themselves out. Even after, when he’s forcing himself to breathe without it catching in his throat, he doesn’t pull away.

“Sorry for crying on you,” he mumbles, suddenly timid. “And hurting you.”

“You didn’t… I asked for it. Literally.” He shrugs when Scott rushes to argue. “I said that shit to get you to attack. You… seemed to need it.”

And now Scott’s looking at him like he’s said something stupid. Which… yes, now that Derek thinks about it, the idea was a stupid one. Stiles would definitely say so.

He clears his throat. “...Sorry.”

The silence that falls between them is tense, but not in the same way that it has been between them ever since Scott had become sixteen. Scott continues to gaze at him, and doesn’t pull away. It’s not until Derek can feel the gentle puff of Scott’s breath against his jaw that he realizes that Scott is _leaning in._ He jerks back, only to knock the back of his skull against the roots with a loud _thud_ . The pain is the tiniest blip on his awareness, too busy reeling because _Scott is trying to kiss him._

“I thought you…” Scott’s confused, face pink and drawn into a wince, eyes shining with what looks suspiciously like hurt.

“I do,” Derek rushes to assure. “I do. But that… you’re sixteen…” He’s _sixteen_. The words fill Derek with a new kind of sickening dread. “I can’t do that to you,” he continues roughly. “I won’t do that to you. Or to me. You’re hurting, you don’t… I know what it’s like to latch onto someone in grief, okay? It never ends well for anyone.”

Scott slumps, and takes a step back. “Oh,” he mumbles. “Um.”

“Let’s just… get you home.” Derek edges out from between the boy and Nemeton. He needs to put some distance between them, when all his treacherous brain can think about is getting closer. He needs to get himself under control. Derek can’t even look at him for fear of giving in.

Beside him, Scott radiates a nervous, miserable energy and Derek feels like they’ve taken two steps backwards from before the almost kiss. And he doesn’t know how to fix it.

Back to square one.

They climb the stairs in uncomfortable silence. When Derek gathers the courage to glance Scott’s way, it’s only to find Scott gazing resolutely at the ground between his feet. Derek wants so badly to reach out to him - to draw him into his side and soothe the worry and hurt he sees in the set of his brows, the slight jump in his shoulders. His hand twitches at his side. He could do that. He could do _something_ . Maybe Scott as an adult doesn’t cling to Derek like this Scott did in the root cellar. Maybe adult Scott doesn’t _try to kiss him_ . But he _does_ give affectionate, comforting touches.

That’s not taking advantage of this Scott’s grief… right?

 _‘Fuck it,’_ he thinks, and reaches out to touch Scott’s arm. It’s an awkward caress at best, lingering for too long when neither of them seem to know what they’re doing. Scott doesn’t flinch away, but stares at him with vulnerable, glittering eyes that makes Derek’s heart do a dizzying flip. “I know it’s hard,” Derek says softly. “But you’re surrounded by people who want to help you. You might not remember them, or they might be different. But they love you.”

 _‘_ **_I_ ** _love you.’_

“It’s going to be okay.”

“I guess,” Scott mumbles. He doesn’t look like he believes it, which is such a switch from the Scott everyone sees - the one who’s constantly assuring that everything will turn out okay, that he’ll handle it. That no one’s going to get hurt. And that’s the thing. These two versions of Scott aren’t actually different.

Scott never stopped being the scared teenager whose life got ripped apart one night under the moon. He’s just learned how to live with it.

They’ve all learned how to live with it.

The last time Derek walked out of the woods with Scott, Scott was seven, and had reached up for his hand with all the blind innocence and trust of a child. Now Scott is sixteen, and nothing’s right between them. But Derek makes the leap this time, like he never could three years ago. His knuckles brush the back of Scott’s hand gently, giving him every chance to back away, before he takes Scott’s hand in his. The boy stares at it for a long while, eyes wide and glassy all over again. Eventually, though, his fingers squeeze around Derek’s.

It’s not much. But it’s… something.

It’s a start.

 

\-----------------------------------------

**END PART 2.**


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are… different after their confrontation beneath the Nemeton. Derek wouldn’t say that they’re _better,_ exactly, but they’re certainly not worse. For days after the incident, they avoid each other completely. It seems to work until the Pack descends upon his loft for the first time Scott since had become his sixteen-year-old self, bringing the reluctant Alpha with them. (Derek isn’t sure if he should be blaming Stiles or Lydia, because both of them look a little too smug about the whole ordeal.) They have no choice but to be in the same room, carefully avoiding each other's eyes the entire time the Pack is arguing over what movie to watch, and to sit on either side of Stiles for the duration of it. He still catches Scott looking at him when the boy thinks he isn’t paying attention. But whatever resentment Derek keeps expecting to find just… isn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it this year's GOAL to be done with this fic, which has been sitting unfinished for like a year and a half. And I'm SO EXCITED to finally present this fic to you all. :D This has been a labor of love, and I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and left kudos on this fic - especially after it's been left as a WIP for so long. Thank you, THANK YOU. As always now, comment moderation is on, but anon commenting is still available.

 

 

\--------------------1---------------------

Things are… different after their confrontation beneath the Nemeton. Derek wouldn’t say that they’re _better_ , exactly, but they’re certainly not worse. For days after the incident, they avoid each other completely. It seems to work until the Pack descends upon his loft for the first time Scott since had become his sixteen-year-old self, bringing the reluctant Alpha with them. (Derek isn’t sure if he should be blaming Stiles or Lydia, because both of them look a little too smug about the whole ordeal.) They have no choice but to be in the same room, carefully avoiding each other's eyes the entire time the Pack is arguing over what movie to watch, and to sit on either side of Stiles for the duration of it. He still catches Scott _looking_ at him when the boy thinks he isn’t paying attention. But whatever resentment Derek keeps expecting to find just… isn’t there.

Where Scott seemed tense and suspicious in his presence before, now he just looks _sullen_. Embarrassed, even. Still sore over what happened between them, perhaps. And Derek-- no. Derek doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to consider that Scott is _hurt_ over Derek rejecting him.

Stiles never asks him about that day, which tells Derek that Stiles knows _exactly_ what happened. Stiles is _not subtle_ about nearly anything, and repentant about even less. And so Derek knows _exactly_ what his boyfriend is doing when he keeps suggesting that the three of them should go out to lunch together, or should go see that the new Captain America movie that he’s been dying to watch. (Even though the last superhero movie Scott had technically seen was Iron Man 2.)

“It’s not going to happen,” he tells Stiles one night, as he’s saying goodbye to his boyfriend on Sheriff Stilinski’s porch.

“What’s not?” Stiles asks with deceptive - poorly deceptive - innocence. Derek gives him a _Look_. “Seriously. No idea. You’re gonna have to use your words on this one.”

“He’s _sixteen_ ,” Derek says roughly.

“Well if _that’s_ your only issue here, I’ll call it an improvement--”

“And he doesn’t want me. Not really.”

Stiles’ head tips back with an irritated sigh. “Annnd we’re back where we started.”

“ _Stiles_. He’s a sixteen-year-old who has no idea what’s going _on_ , much less what he _wants._ All he knows is what you’ve been telling him. You can’t keep _pushing us together_ and insisting that this is going to be a thing!” He gestures helplessly. “Just spend time with him. Stop trying to convince him. He needs you.”

Stiles watches him for a long moment. “Are you done?” he says finally.

Derek rolls his eyes. “ _Yes_.”

“Okay. First of all--” He steps down from the porch, his smile almost incredulous. “I cannot _believe_ I am about to be the optimist in this situation. You know it’s fucked up when _I’m_ playing the optimist out of the three of us. Second, no, I will _not_ stop spending time with you for Scott. I _like_ spending time with both of you. And third…” Stiles shuffles in close, angling his body towards Derek to catch his eyes. “Trust Scott, if you can’t trust me.”

“I _trust_ you.” His words come out fervent. It feels just as intimate as any love confession he’s ever thought of.

Stiles must think so too, because the solemness around his mouth softens into something small and pleased. “Yeah?” he says.

“Of course.” His face feels hot, and only flushes brighter when the little smile becomes a grin. “But you can’t know how Scott feels or what he wants.”

“So… I can’t trust what I know. But we can’t trust what _Scott_ knows. So then who do we trust?”

 _‘No one,’_ a part of him bitterly answers. But aloud, he only mutters, “Stop that.”

“What?”

“Trying to use _logic_.”

Stiles grins. “No way, not if it’s working.” And Derek can’t help the gentle breath of laughter that escapes him. “But seriously, once Scott gets back to himself, you’ll see. I swear, you will.” He reaches for Derek’s hand, his eyes big and dark and pleading. A lump forms in Derek’s throat. “I promise you will.”

Derek doesn’t give him an answer to that. He’s not sure he’s brave enough. So he kisses Stiles goodnight, and goes back to his car.

 

\--------------------2---------------------

 

It takes another week before Deaton finally calls Scott back to his clinic. Evidently, the druid has taken some extra time to ensure everything goes _right_ this time around. Stiles texts him in the late afternoon to tell him, and Derek, distantly, wishes them luck.

He doesn’t accompany them. Not this time.

Instead he sits out on his balcony, watching the sun make its lazy crawl towards the horizon over the abandoned industrial landscape of Beacon Hills. It’s oddly pretty, in a broken sort of way. It’s grown on him, become something like his home now. He’s made the old terrace in front of the big windows into something comfortable. He’s got a little reading nook and even a planter of flowers. So it’s not unusual for him to sit out there reading and drinking his evening tea. It doesn’t matter that he can’t really _focus_ on his book at all, too busy anxiously watching the road below.

It’s silly to expect them. This would hardly be the first place they’d go after Scott’s put to rights again. And yet, Derek remains out on the balcony, waiting even as the day slips into twilight.

Stiles’ Jeep makes a very distinct sound, an ominous rattling that he refuses to have a professional look at. So Derek hears it coming long before it turns off the road in front of his building. He manages not to lean up and watch, only peering over the top of his book as the Jeep pulls to a stop five stories below. Two figures leap from the cab, and Derek’s heart does a dizzying flip in his chest.

He can hear them the entire way up. From their quick footsteps in the foyer to the creak of the birdcage elevator and their slowly faltering last steps to his door.

But Derek doesn’t go to greet them. Not even as the heavy metal door to his loft slides open, and the pair of them venture inside. He doesn’t get up, because if he does, he’s afraid he’s going to _run._ The nervous racing of the two heartbeats inside his loft doesn’t help quell the urge, either. So he pretends to read, and tries not to flinch at every little movement from inside.

It’s Scott that comes out onto the terrace, smelling freshly of druid magic and the forest, in the way only the Alpha of Beacon Hills can. And it’s _their Scott_. Derek knows without having to look at him. The air about him is completely different from the shaken, desperate teenager he was at sixteen. _Their Scott_ radiates a gentleness and quiet power, and a heartbreaking weariness that never seems to leave.

Derek forces himself to not glance up as Scott approaches, not until the young man stops in front of him, and gently leans against the steel railing. The reaction in Derek is instantaneous. Just the sight of their Scott - _his_ Scott - is enough to make something settle in him.

“Hi,” Scott says softly.

“Hi,” Derek echoes.

The silence bubbles up between them. And Scott looks… nervous. Hesitant. “I’m sorry,” he whispers at last.

Oh. They’re doing this now, then. Derek closes his book, the words lodged in his throat. He knew Scott’s rejection was inevitable. But he can’t help but feel blindsided, when the words _I’m sorry_ and _you don’t have to do this_ and _I know, but I want you to be happy_ all fight to come out of his mouth at once.

“Scott,” he tries.

“No, I… I was _awful_ to you. I don’t, um, remember everything, but I remember enough to know that I need to apologize for being…” Scott sighs. “For being an ungrateful _brat_.”

Derek blinks. “What?”

“You were just trying to help, and I said so many awful things. I screwed up. I’m always screwing up and I’m so sorry, Derek.” Scott’s voice cracks, hitching around his apology. He looks so utterly miserable, as if Derek has _any_ right to be angry with him at all.

No, no, he can’t accept a word of that. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for. _No_ , Scott,” he hurries to interrupt as Scott opens his mouth in protest. “You were right. Everything that happened - I deserved it.”

When he risks a glance at Scott, his Alpha is gazing at him with stricken eyes. He’s not sure whether it’s the miserable furrow of his brows or the alarming glimmer in his eyes that makes his heart twist in his chest. “Derek, no.” Scott’s voice is almost pleading, though Derek can’t understand _why_. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Derek frowns deeply. “After everything that happened when you first were turned, I _did_. I wasn’t kind to you then - and that’s an _understatement_. It wasn’t a shock that you hated me at sixteen.”

“I didn’t hate you,” Scott protests. “And some of the things I remember saying… even back then you wouldn’t have deserved that.” And he must see Derek’s disbelief, because something so heartfelt and warm dances across Scott’s expression that Derek has to look away.

He startles when fingertips skim over his cheekbones, a warning before Scott takes his face in his hands. His fingers trace the line of Derek’s jaw, just barely scratching at his beard and Derek has to fight not to shiver. His face is tipped up, and Scott is _there_ , leaning in with a soft look in his eyes. Their lips meet gently; a kiss soft and sweet that it would be simple if not for the way Derek’s heart leaps. It is there and over in far too short a time. Scott pulls back slowly, still close enough that Derek can almost feel his lips when he speaks - the phantoms of potential kisses. “I remember this, too. That I tried this.”

Derek jerks back in his chair as if he'd been doused in ice water. The hazy buzz of the kiss is drowned out by a familiar tangle of uncertainty and guilt. The apology is halfway out of his mouth when Scott silences him with a gentle finger to his lips.

“It’s okay. I just… I want to thank you for stopping uh, me - that me.”

Derek wonders if this is it - if this is the point where Scott will tell him “thanks but it’s not going to work.” It’s the worst kind of torture when every inch of him screams to pull Scott into his arms. “You didn’t want me, not really,” he acknowledges.

To his surprise, Scott laughs gently. “Oh, no, I did. You were just right that the way I tried it wasn’t… healthy.” He leans in again, lips caressing over Derek’s cheek. “Thank you, because now _I_ get to be here for our first kiss. _I_ get to tell you how much I--”

Derek doesn’t let him finish. He _breaks_ halfway through, tugging Scott forward practically into his lap in his haste to kiss him again. It feels like his world is shaking apart at the seams, shattering over and over again with every kiss Scott presses to his mouth. His hands twist in Scott’s shirt, forcibly holding him there, knowing that Scott pulling away for any reason will _end him._ But he frets for nothing, because Scott is clinging just as tight, a hand cupping the nape of Derek’s neck using it to press closer. Derek is contemplating just pulling the young man the rest of the way into his lap, instead of letting him just hover there awkwardly, when Stiles’ voice drifts from inside.

“Fucking _finally_!”

Their next kiss stops short with a breath of laughter from both of them. “Please tell me you didn’t let Stiles push you into this,” Derek whispers. He’s joking. Mostly. Scott doesn’t have to know otherwise.

“Only to ‘pull my head out of my ass and tell Derek I’m over the moon for him.’” His eyes dance with mirth. “He really likes those werewolf puns.”

“Yeah, he does,” Derek agrees, and gives Scott a nuzzling little kiss - just because he can. Because if he doesn’t take the chance to, he’s sure that he’s going to wake up from whatever dream this is, alone and cold on his terrace instead of in Scott’s arms.

“Come back inside?” Scott asks. “Stiles is getting impatient.” It’s meant to be joking. But there’s a timid smile on his face; an intention behind his words that makes Derek’s heart flutter in anticipation. He nods and lets his Alpha help him to his feet. His book and his tea are left abandoned as Scott leads him inside. But Derek can’t be bothered to worry about them.

Stiles is waiting for them inside the loft. He turns to them with a broad gesture, one of those rare, bright smiles on his face. Derek had expected his boyfriend to be smug about this. He was fully prepared for the “I told you so”s and the “you should’ve listened”s. But for now, there’s only outright glee in Stiles’ smile. The lanky young man comes to them in fast strides, encircling them both in a strong embrace as soon as they’re inside. Derek finds himself pressed up against two warm bodies instead of the usual one, and he’s struck by how _right_ it feels.

He never considered there to be something _missing_ with Stiles. That would do Stiles a terrible injustice. But despite his persisting feelings for Scott, he’d never before realized how well Scott would fit with them. How he’d fit _against_ them, so easily molding into their arms.

“Good talk?” Stiles asks. His eyes sparkle mischievously, already knowing the answer.

A soft smile touches Scott’s lips. “Well, there wasn’t a lot of talking...”

“Yeah, I saw that. But I can’t say I’m disappointed by the show.”

Derek doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a close thing. “Of course. I think I’d take the ‘I told you so’s over this.”

“Oh, those are coming,” Stiles all but purrs. “But first I’d like to see my boyfriends kiss some more.”

“Shameless,” Scott sighs mournfully. But he ruins the charade with a choked off giggle. His eyes keep darting in Derek’s direction, even as he leans close and nuzzles into Stiles’ shoulder.

A hundred fluttering butterflies explode in Derek’s stomach. There’s something so soft and warm in Scott’s eyes. Loving and excited and timid all at once. Derek thinks about kissing him again, about covering his plush mouth with his own, over and over again until Scott is glassy-eyed and breathless. The thought is so vivid that Derek suddenly feels weightless, like someone has reached right into his chest and yanked him off the ground.

He wants to kiss Scott and never stop. And he might, _oh god_ , he might be able to now.

“Here, come on,” Stiles urges. He takes each of their hands and tugs them forward. The three of them go stumbling across the loft, all breathless, excited laughter and fervent glances. No one’s surprised when Stiles guides them over to the bed. He unceremoniously climbs onto it and situates himself in the center of Derek’s supposedly fit-for-three bed. He’s practically vibrating, radiating _entirely_ too much excitement as Derek and Scott join him. Derek shoots him a knowing glance as he settles up near the pillows, Scott beside him.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Stiles laughs. “You have any idea how much of my Stiles Time has been spent thinking about this moment?”

‘’You’re awful,” Derek tells him.

“I know, it keeps me up at night. Now _kiss_.”

This time, Derek _does_ roll his eyes. He turns his gaze to Scott, who’s been observing the exchanged with an amused grin. “What do we see in him?”

Scott leans closer. “He _can_ be charming sometimes. And attractive. And the things he can do with his mouth…”

Stiles’ impatient groan cuts through the air, and Scott shakes with silent laughter, swaying into Derek’s chest. And everything _settles_ . It clicks into place, Derek’s mind whispering _‘Now’_ and he cups a hand around the line of Scott’s jaw and kisses him. As easy and as natural as if it had always been this way. It’s so sweet and warm, the way Scott melts into the kiss. The Alpha tucks himself into Derek’s side so easily, returning every kiss. It’s unhurried and tender, and Derek’s hands are shaking at how much _emotion_ something so chaste can stir in him.

Scott’s hand finds his at his jawline, holding it there, quelling the tremor in it. And the simple gesture is enough for the tension to drain out of his shoulders. Scott is here, and he’s real. And Derek can let himself _have this_.

He kisses Scott until the young man is breathless, just like he wanted. Until Scott clutches at him and lets out the most gorgeous little moans. He nibbles and licks gently at his mouth until Derek knows that they’re going to be puffy and pink for the rest of the evening.

And also, until the arousal is coming off of their boyfriend in waves from where he’s sitting across the bed.hey

Derek breaks away from his single-minded quest to kiss Scott McCall into a stupor, more than a little smug when Scott sways after him thoughtlessly. He looks just as delectable as Derek knew he would, eyes hooded and dark, his cheeks flushed gently. And his mouth shiny and pink from too many kisses.

Stiles must think so too, because there’s hiccuping little gasp from across the bed. When Derek glances his way, he finds Stiles staring slack-jawed at them, eyes molten. It’s not just need, it’s not even just desire (though there’s no hiding the way his dick is starting to press against the front of his jeans). It’s something so full of emotion - so full of _love_. If Derek wasn’t already breathless from kissing Scott, it would knock the air right out of his lungs.

God, why is Stiles still _all the way over there?_ “Come here,” Derek commands, though it comes out as more of a plea.

Stiles only needs to be told once. He all but leaps up the bed at them, flailing limbs all focused on propelling him forward. He seems to be aiming for the nearest person, who turns out to be Scott, swooping in to kiss with a kind of graceless enthusiasm that Derek finds endearing. Especially when Scott muffles a laugh against his mouth and drags him in closer. Derek lets himself enjoy the sight for a few moments, before lowering his face to Scott’s throat and latching onto his pulse point. Scott’s gasp is stifled into their kisses, and it’s the most perfect sound Derek has ever heard.

Everything is warm and floaty for a while, as the three of them try to figure out how to occupy the same space, how to trade kisses and touches without accidentally leaving someone out for long. It’s a lot of bumping noses and one too many people trying to direct who gets kisses next and fumbling hands. It’s not efficient or even skilled, but it’s _exhilarating_ all the same.

Eventually there’s a pause as all of them falter over where their boundaries are. They end up staring at each other instead. They end up stumbling over questions. They start with “Is it okay if--” and “Do you want--” and “It’s okay if you don’t want to but--” and laugh incredulously when they can’t even get a damned sentence out.

“If you’d like to,” Scott finally teases, “I really need someone to take my clothes off. As soon as possible.”

And that’s good enough for them. They work so much better when there’s a common goal in mind. Even if that goal is divesting Scott McCall of his clothes as quickly as possible. Scott humors them through it all, even laughing as they tug the shirt over his head. And when they finally finish, and Scott is gloriously naked on Derek’s bed looking up at them, he smiles.

“Uh, should I be feeling underdressed? Guys?”

“Nope,” Stiles says.

“No,” Derek agrees.

Never in Derek’s wildest imagination could he have known how _good_ Scott would look, here naked in his bed. He is ethereal, with the setting sun playing soft light over his flesh. His body is unblemished, unmarred from the hardship that he’s faced time and time again since the tender age of sixteen. Thanks to his healing, it never will be. But there’s still so much beauty in him - in the faint brush of a freckle here, a birthmark there. In the swell of muscle and the curve of bone.

“--Derek?”

He blinks, only to find that both of them are staring at him now. Though Stiles is looking at him with a wicked glimmer in his eyes, Scott’s smile is gentle, amused.

“What?” he asks.

Stiles laughs softly. “You were off in another world there, big guy.”

Derek clears his throat. “I was…” his words falter. He gives Stiles the customary “don’t say a word” glare before glancing bashfully in Scott’s direction. “I was thinking how beautiful you are.”

Scott’s smile is sunshine sweet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Derek murmurs.

The moment is broken when Stiles makes a sound that is almost pained, and mutters, “You’re both gonna kill me.” He dips in close and presses a chaste little kiss to Derek’s cheek. He absolutely does not blush. “You know what I’d really like to see?” Stiles asks, a slow, sensual grin curving his mouth. He leans in to whisper right in Derek’s ear, as if he actually means to keep it a secret even when Scott can clearly hear every word. “I’d like to see you suck our boyfriend’s dick. Show him exactly how attentive you are.”

And Derek isn’t sure which part of that makes his brain fizzle out more: the request or the use of the word “our.” “Stiles--”

Whatever worry is passing through his mind, whatever insecure floundering at the presumption that Derek is mustering is silenced. Because Scott is nodding at him, eyes wide and eager, and spreading his legs in the most blatant invitation. His throat suddenly feels dry.

“See? Scott wants you to.”

So Derek obeys, feeling just a little self-conscious as he slides down between his Alpha’s legs. He can’t tear his eyes away from Scott’s, the gentle intensity in them enough to send Derek’s heart pounding. Stiles’ fingers rub between his shoulder blades, a tender, silent urging. It feels strange that _Derek_ is the one who feels naked and vulnerable here, when he’s fully clothed before Scott’s nudity.

Scott’s warm hand cupping his cheek makes those thoughts go quiet. Stiles’ hand at his back makes the knot of anxiety loosen its hold on his racing heart. He can have this, the gestures say, if he wants it.

And he does, more than anything. Even if that something is sucking Scott’s dick until he goes cross-eyed.

He wraps large hands around Scott’s thighs and tugs him closer, reveling in the gasp that leaves the young man’s mouth. His head dips to nuzzle at the tender, soft skin at his hip. Scott smells so _good_ here, just like Derek always knew he would. His scent stronger, mixed with musk and arousal and it’s _perfect._ He wants to suck marks into his hips and his thighs for hours, even knowing they won’t last more than a few minutes.

“Derek,” Scott whispers. It’s almost a choked little plea, no doubt because Derek has been ignoring the very obvious hard-on Scott’s been trying  not to arch against his face, or something equally as endearing and polite.

He flashes Scott a smirk before caressing the length of his cock with parted lips. Scott’s thighs jump under his hands at the slight touch, sending a sheer rush of power through Derek’s veins. He traces the ridge of the head with his tongue and sucks gently at the soft foreskin for a while, not caring if he’s technically teasing about it. All that matters are Scott’s gasps and the wide-eyed, worshipful stare he’s being given.

There’s a whisper of cloth as Stiles slides against Scott’s side, perfectly situating himself to watch. His eyes are dark, avidly following every movement of Derek’s mouth, intense enough to make heat spark in Derek’s belly. “God, you look good like that,” Stiles declares, his voice nothing but a rasp. “Doesn’t he look good, Scotty?”

Scott, bless him, has to try a few times before he answers with a hitched, “ _Yes_ …”

“You always talk about how I’m obsessed with sucking dick,” Stiles continues, his voice covering up Scott’s sudden gasp as Derek finally swallows him down. “About how I’ve got an oral fixation. But now I finally get to show you what _he’s_ like. Scotty, _Scotty,_ he lives to wreck you with his mouth. If you let him start, he’s not gonna stop. He’s gonna love taking you apart. Aren’t you, Der--”

“ _Stiles!_ ” Scott whimpers, sounding overwhelmed. Derek is glad for the interruption. Even with his eyes closed, with all his focus on the task of sucking Scott in slow, long pulls of his mouth, he knows his ears are burning. That his face must be pink at Stiles’ praise.

And it only seems to delight Stiles. He only continues to whisper dirty little nothings in Scott’s ear for both of them, telling them how beautiful they are, how much he loves watching them squirm at his words, and what he would love to see them do to each other. He goes until Derek can’t take anymore, and lets Scott slip from his mouth. He ignores the way Scott whines unhappily at the loss in favor of smacking Stiles irritably on the thigh.

“Stilinski, shut up and get the lube.”

Stiles heaves a put upon sigh. “So romantic,” he says, but his sarcasm comes out more fond than anything. But he does as he’s asked, nearly falling off the bed in his haste to grab the lube from the bedside table. The bottle lands near Derek’s hand with a muted thump and he’s almost too quick in scooping it up and slicking his fingers.

His eyes flick up to meet Scott’s, but he doesn’t have to find the words to ask if this is okay because Scott nods, his eyes dark and glittering. The sound he makes when Derek takes him back into his mouth is nothing short of gorgeous. He finds his rhythm again easily, dragging his mouth along the length of him in fluid motions. Scott can’t seem to help rocking up into his mouth, but even now it’s careful, so controlled.

Derek wants to _ruin_ that control.

Because Stiles is absolutely right: Derek gets off taking his lovers apart. With his mouth, with his hands, with his cock. He loves watching someone fall apart - under him, over him, fuck, it doesn’t matter how. And just thinking about pushing Scott that far, about making his iron control break has Derek fighting not to rut against the bed.

With gentle fingers he teases between Scott’s legs, fascinated by the arch of his body. Stiles has pressed himself up against Scott’s side again, smothering his moans with hungry kisses. But there’s no way that they can hide the full-body shudder or the sweet little cry that leaves Scott’s mouth when Derek finally eases a finger inside him. Derek rumbles up at them, nuzzling at the length of Scott’s cock until the hot clutch of his body relaxes.

He opens Scott up nice and slow - not to let him adjust, no, because Scott starts pressing down onto his fingers after only a few thrusts. But the longer he takes, the more his Alpha starts to shake and cling to Stiles, the more he starts to gasp and pant and curse.

He meets Stiles’ eyes over their lover’s body. Stiles has sat up, watching him with a slack, kiss-swollen mouth and hot eyes, an expression of such _want_ that it gives Derek a headrush. Stiles seems to have completely forgotten about teasing Scott now, only absently stroking a hand down his squirming body and watching as Derek takes him apart.

Derek can’t blame him. He’d love to be in that position. Maybe even sometime soon.

He’s content to let Scott all but ride his fingers. The weight of him on Derek’s tongue, sliding wetly in his mouth in minute thrusts, is its own kind of exquisite pleasure. The hands that at first card through his hair and then grip as Scott’s moans and whimpers get louder are addicting. Derek is so hard he’s _aching_ and still confined to his jeans but he’s absolutely fine with that as long as he has Scott trying so hard not to use his mouth; as long as he has Stiles palming himself through his jeans as he watches.

There’s the barest hint of a swell against his lips as Scott gives a particularly deep thrust, and the rumble that breaks free from Derek’s chest is entirely animal in nature. Something primal in him all but _preens_ , and he’s quick to jostle position enough to get his free hand around Scott’s knot even before Scott finishes gasping his name.

“ _I can’t--_ Derek--” Scott’s practically sobbing it now, trembling against him and around him, choking as Derek squeezes gently around his knot and crooks his fingers inside him. Scott’s control finally snaps, the hands clenching tight in Derek’s hair. The pain is just shy of too much to be pleasurable, but Derek can’t bring himself to care. Not when Scott is writhing under his hands and coming in a bitter burst over Derek’s tongue. Derek swallows him down until Scott starts squirming, the hands tugging his hair going insistent.

Derek lifts his head, letting Scott’s length slip wetly from his mouth. His head swims, his breath coming in harsh gasps, and his skin feels tight and jittery all over. It’s not entirely unlike being punch-drunk. Need thrums in his lower belly, and even the slightest shift in position makes Derek bite back a whimper.

The glimpse he catches of his lovers, Scott with his face flushed and eyes glassy, and Stiles with bitten red lips and a dark, heavy-lidded stare, is enough to almost throw what’s left of his sanity out the window. He gently pulls away, wondering if Scott would like him to stroke and mouth at his knot until the very last of the tremors leave him. But he never gets the chance. Because Stiles all but dives down the bed at him, kissing Derek so hard that he has to crane his head back. That clever tongue pushes past his lips, an absolutely _filthy_ moan rumbling out of his boyfriend’s throat as he chases the taste of Scott’s come in his mouth. Fingers are in his hair, nails scratching along his scalp and Derek goes pliant in Stiles’ hands, letting him plunder his mouth as he pleases.

Somewhere above them Scott lets out a dizzy little laugh, breathless and exhilarating, that makes Stiles pull away. “Don’t laugh at me,” he admonishes. His voice is hitched and rough, and it sends a shiver down Derek’s spine. “That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”

If Derek thinks to say something to that, it fails, because all that comes out of his mouth is a desperate, breathless little whimper. It would be humiliating any other time, but Derek is so turned on he can barely see straight, and all he wants right now is for one of them to _do something._

“God, look at you. All you’ve done is suck his dick and you’re _wrecked_.” Derek’s mouth is captured in another kiss, this one quick and dirty, parted lips skimming along his cheek as they separate. “I know exactly what you need.”

Something like relief swells in his chest. “ _Please_ ,” he finds himself rasping, shivering at the sultry little grin Stiles is giving him.

“I’ve got you, Der.” Broad hands tug at his clothes. “Get these off, baby. Then we can show Scotty just how pretty you look when I fuck you.”

The only thing his mind can muster is a heartfelt, _‘Thank_ **_fuck_** _.’_ Derek’s clothes feel twisted around him as he struggles to get them off - too tight and too hot and it’s all he can do not to simply shred them apart with his claws in his haste. But his lovers are quick to help him. Stiles disappears behind Derek, reaching under him to undo his jeans (and brushing clever, mischievous hands against his groin as he does). Scott’s hands join the fray, helping Derek to tug his shirt over his head. His clothes are tossed haphazardly across the room, leaving him naked to the blissfully cool air of the loft and the burning touch of Stiles’ hands.

“Hurry,” he finally manages to demand, but it comes out as a plea more than anything. Thankfully, Stiles doesn’t seem too interested in teasing him, because he settles between Derek’s legs and slicks his fingers. He spreads his legs a little wider, hips arching in clear invitation, and he has to bite back a breathless laugh at the, almost helpless, moan Stiles makes.

Dexterous, slippery fingers stroke between his legs, barely pausing to tease against his rim before pushing into him. First one and then another before Derek can even gasp. His hips shove back against them, the burn only the tiniest spark of discomfort along his nerves, lost in the sea of sensation and desire. “Now,” he orders, but his voice hitches around the word until it’s almost a plea. “ _Stiles_ \--”

A hand presses into the small of his back, forcing his hips to still as long fingers twist inside him. “Shh, just let me do this for you. Okay? Then I’ll fuck you as hard as you want, Der, I promise.”

He growls wordlessly instead of the desperate _‘You’d better,’_ that his mind supplies. Derek presses his face into Scott’s hip, panting hotly against his soft skin as he tries to exercise patience and control - a losing battle. But Scott combs his fingers through his hair, a sweet counterpoint to the storm inside him at the moment. Until finally Stiles eases his fingers from his hole, leaving him empty and aching. Derek swallows the needy moan that rises in his throat, peering over his shoulder to hungrily watch his lover shove his jeans down his hips and slick his cock.

“Ready?” Stiles asks sweetly. His smile is tender and just somehow faintly wicked.

“Fuck, just hurry up,” Derek manages to snap in a voice that sounds nothing like his own. He gets his knees back under him, ready to reach back and do the _damn thing himself_. But Scott is grabbing his hands, guiding them to settle more firmly on his sides at the same time Stiles is maneuvering them both into a more comfortable position.

They’re thinking more clearly than he is at this point, because when Stiles finally lines up and presses the head of his dick past his rim, Derek’s arms almost give out. He slumps against Scott’s belly, letting out a reedy sound as Stiles keeps going, barely pausing until he bottoms out. The sharp, cold ridge of his zipper bites into Derek’s thigh, giving an edge to his pleasure.

“Good, there you go, you’ve got it,” Stiles murmurs behind him. He’s going for soothing, but his voice is all twisted up in pleasure. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Derek wishes, for an exhilarating second, he had the words to reciprocate. That he knew the words to properly describe how fucking _good_ it feels to have Stiles almost splitting him open, how full and thick he feels inside him. How hot and close and intimate it always feels. But all he managed is a wrecked little noise that he hopes can even convey his thoughts in the slightest sense.

Stiles knows better than to tease him this time. He grips Derek’s hips in strong, clever hands and grinds into him for a breathless second before pulling back. His thrusts are long and fluid, each sending shivery waves up Derek’s spine. He drapes himself over Scott, resting his forehead against Scott’s soft skin, breathing him in, and only manages a gasped curse. Scott holds him there, his touch possessive, keeping Derek pressed against him as Stiles finds his rhythm.

They aren’t even holding him down, their touches are reverent and soft. But Derek goes pliant in their holds, feeling weightless. He’s rocked between them, soothing and sure, forward against Scott’s torso and back into Stiles’ gaining thrusts. It’s so, so easy to get swallowed up by the tide of it. To sink until everything is fuzzy and hot - until all thoughts slow to a crawl. His moans get smothered as he dips his head, mouthing feverishly along Scott’s length until it grows thick against his lips and Scott keens above him. There’s no scheme or reason to it. Derek only has the strength to _want_ . All he can think about is tasting Scott again, of maybe taking him in his mouth while Stiles fucks him over the edge, a pair of hands gripping his hips and another in his hair. The realization alone threatens to make him come, just like that, without anyone even touching his cock - _would have_ , if not for Scott hurriedly pulling him up with a rasped, “Stop, stop! Stiles, I need--”

Stiles goes still, jolting Derek from the comfortable daze he’d been in. A whine tears free from his mouth before he can think to stop it. Stiles strokes hands up his back absently, almost in apology as he pants, “What? You okay?” over Derek’s head.

The laugh that’s torn from Scott’s throat is one Derek’s never heard before - utterly wrecked and giddy and breathless. “I wanna come again,” Scott pleads, now tugging gently at Derek’s shoulders. “Want him up here, want to feel him in me when I come.”

Just hearing the words makes Derek’s insides liquefy. He’s not even upset when Stiles pulls out of him, leaving him open and aching. “Fuck, you werewolves and your goddamned barely-existent refractory periods,” Stiles rambles on absurdly. But even as he says it, he seems to notice how Derek is shaking apart under him. Fingers breach him once more, relieving the hot, hollow ache just for a moment, and Derek gasps and clenches around Stiles’ fingers. “Mm, you’re still good.” His boyfriend pats his hip, gently working his fingers, twisting them in and out of his hole before drawing them out. “Go on, Der, get up there.”

And Derek can’t think of anything but doing just that. His limbs shake as he crawls up the bed into the inviting cradle of Scott’s arms. He feels heavy and weightless all at once, his head spinning. He collapses gladly against the younger man, seeking out his mouth. Scott breathes a moan into the kiss, legs tangling up around Derek’s hips and hands clutching at his back to keep him there - as if him disappearing is _actually_ a possibility.

Scott arches up against him, seeking touch or friction - Derek can’t possibly decide which. But the press of him up against Derek’s cock makes him gasp, parting his lips for Scott to sweep his tongue into Derek’s mouth.

They kiss like that, hot, wet, and desperate - no technique and all desire - for what could be seconds or several minutes. And it’s only when Scott lets go of him, reaching for the lube that Stiles is hastily shoving into his hand, that Derek surfaces from the heady daze. He lifts his head, sure he looks the most unattractive kind of wrecked, eyes wild and face flushed.

Scott smiles sweetly up at him, gracelessly tipping the bottle into his palm one-handed and tossing it back down the bed. Derek has enough presence of mind to lift up as Scott slips a hand between them, choking on his own gasp as sure, slick fingers wrap around his cock. “I’m ready,” Scott sighs, hot breath fanning against the line of Derek’s jaw.

He lets go of Derek’s cock, only to shove his hand up between his legs and press three fingers past his rim. Derek forgets how to form words, or even thought. The only thing that matters is watching the Alpha’s fingers curl and his legs inch higher up the bed, his whole body desperate for touch. Derek could spend an eternity watching Scott’s eyes flutter shut, thick dark lashes caressing his blushing cheeks.

Stiles’ sharp chin hooks over his shoulder, the length of him warming Derek’s back. Those lanky, deceptively strong arms wind around his ribs, fingertips just lightly tickling his skin. Derek can’t help but shiver.

“You can have him,” he reminds Derek softly.

Scott’s eyes open just a sliver, peering up at the two of them with… Derek can’t put words to his expression. Wonder, maybe, or awe, but it’s so much _more_ than that.

He doesn’t wait for further urging to dip back down into Scott’s space, to gather him up in his arms and hold him close as he presses the aching line of his cock into him in one barely-controlled thrust. His own gasp swallows Scott’s, less kissing and more panting against each other’s lips as they shake.

“You okay?” Derek gives a breathy rasp. He nuzzles at Scott’s cheek. “I don’t think I can…”

“Yes!” Scott pleads. “Move, please I-- I want to come with you in me.” He ducks and presses his face against Derek’s throat - sending hot chills racing down Derek’s spine. “I want you to knot me,” he whispers bashfully.

And that’s all Derek’s restraint can take. He’s so far past going slow and gentle, only able to clutch Scott to him and fuck him in frantic, uncoordinated thrusts. All he can think about is the hot, wet fluttering of Scott around him, of the panting mouth muffling needy moans against his throat, of Stiles’ hands caressing over his shoulders and down his back. Scott’s teeth sink into the meat of his shoulder, and he lets out a broken hiccup of a moan.

Stiles’ hand grasping his hip is the only pause, stilling Derek long enough to push him further into the bed, to arch his hips up just another measure so Stiles can press his dick back inside him, to finally quell the missing, hollow piece of the puzzle. Derek can’t even hear his own choked cry for the blood rushing in his ears. He buries his face in Scott’s hair, his strength giving out. Stiles takes over the pace, hands at Derek’s shoulders, fucking him in long, mind-shattering thrusts that succeed, at least, in forcing Derek to grind into Scott on every breathtaking motion.

It’s messy and arrhythmic, and would be unsatisfying for all of them if they weren’t so far gone already.

“Yeah, fuck, _fuck_ , fill me up,” Scott is mindlessly gasping against his jawline. “Please, _please,_ Derek, I want it.”

“Knot him, Der,” Stiles’ deep whisper is at his ear. “He wants it so bad.”

It’s not that Derek consciously obeys, but that his body is helpless to do anything but give in. It’s all too much and not enough and Scott cries out beneath him as his knot swells and finally catches at his rim. And after that, Derek ceases to be able to form coherent thought. His orgasm isn’t a gradual swell but a weightless _leap_ , every nerve firing at once. He’s barely aware of his lovers clinging to him, still writhing against him as they tenderly use his body to find their own completion.

There’s nothing but the heady fog of pleasure of a while, his body still trembling and wrung out, new gasps squeeze from his lungs every time Stiles so much as shifts inside him, or Scott flutters around his oversensitive knot.

And then there’s a fond whisper somewhere around him: “I think we broke him.” A gentle weight presses against him, pinning him down, and soft panting breaths against his shoulder. “You still with us, Der?”

Derek can only muster a soft hum.

“You’re squishing me,” Scott wheezes, but it’s half laughter.

“You got the bottom of the bottom, buddy,” Stiles teases. “This is your life now.”

“Noooooo,” Scott giggles back.

It feels like his brain finally comes back online, because Derek swats blindly at Stiles’ flank. “Quit,” he huffs. He somehow manages to get his arms under him, even though his nerves still feel disconnected and fuzzy. But at least he can lever his weight off of the man beneath him so that he’s not smothering Scott, or something equally embarrassing. The Alpha makes a throaty, not altogether pleased sound, and reaches up to wind his arms around Derek’s neck.

“Hey,” he greets, eyes soft and warm. His smile is even softer, and painfully sweet.

“Hi,” Derek murmurs back. He can’t think of anything else to add, and lets the tender silence fall between them.

“You’re giving me cavities back here,” Stiles prompts, nudging his chin into Derek’s shoulder.

“You could always leave,” Derek reminds him, meaning exactly none of it.

“Please. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” And even if Stiles tries to make the words teasing, it fails. Because it only comes out soft and tender. If possible, Derek’s heart swells even more, his chest full and warm and tight. He leans back enough so that he can catch Stiles’ mouth in a sweet kiss. The movement causes Scott clutch tighter at his shoulders, getting dragged up off the bed and laughing quietly as he hangs there. Derek chuckles, and dips down to kiss him as well.

“Alright,” Stiles says, after they’ve traded sweet, wet kisses for a while. “M’ getting up.” His fingers slide up Derek’s back in warning before he pulls back, his softening dick slipping out of Derek with an uncomfortable, slick tug. Stiles squeezes the back of his neck in apology. He clambers out of bed on coltish legs, tripping over the jeans that are still clinging around his knees. Derek watches as he kicks them clumsily away. “You wanna shower?”

The pair of them groan miserably at the very idea.

“You’re gonna be _gross_ if you stay like that.”

Scott buries his face in Derek’s throat, tugging at him until they’re both sprawled back across the bed. There’s no hiding the way he’s taking gulping breaths of the scent of them on Derek’s skin. The entangled scents of all three of them and sweat and sex and come.

Stiles’ face screws up, and he rolls his eyes. “ _Werewolves._ ”

“You chose this,” Scott mumbles into the hollow of Derek’s throat.

“I did,” their boyfriend sighs back. “I’m gonna go clean up. I’ll bring back a washcloth or something.” He sways out of view, and shouts back: “Because my boyfriends are gross!”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. Derek still feels boneless as they shuffle into a more relaxed position (where he isn’t unintentionally bending Scott in half). His knot has gone down enough to ease out of the hot clutch of Scott’s body, but the subtle cringe the Alpha makes still has Derek leaning down and pressing gentle kisses along his chest in apology. Scott tugs him up along his side, where they lay curled up together on the rumpled sheets.

That’s how Stiles finds them. He comes back around the room divider, looking a little less wrecked and a little steadier on his feet, still naked and flushed and looking delicious, and stops at the foot of the bed. Derek risks a glance when he doesn’t immediately climb in, and something in him jolts upon finding Stiles’ eyes have gone molten and so goddamned _affectionate_. His throat goes dry. Any thought of attempting banter leaves him. He can only open his arms and beckon Stiles to them, which Stiles obeys with uncharacteristic quiet.

They clean up with only minimal whining and teasing, Derek blindly tossing the soiled rags in the direction of the hamper with only the slightest care. It leaves them lounging on the bed in bewildered silence.

“So how are we doing this?” Stiles finally asks.

Derek swallows nervously. He hasn’t a clue.

“Well,” Scott attempts to answer. “I mean we have to talk about it. We can go back to the old arrangement until we figure it out. But I’d like… I’d really like to try for all of us--”

“What? No, I meant how are we doing the _sleeping arrangements,_ Scott!” Stiles huffs out a fond laugh that has the tension around Derek’s heart easing all at once. “Of course we’re doing the altogether dating thing. _Christ._ ”

“ _Oh_.”

“Yeah, _oh._ You are the cutest, you know that?”

Scott looks ready to deny that on principle, so Derek cuts in with a solemn, “You are.” It seems to stop Scott in his tracks. Which is… absurd, given that only ten minutes ago Derek was desperate for any touch the Alpha would give him. The flush Derek’s quiet declaration brings to Scott’s face is fetching all the same.

“I’m not moving,” Scott asserts abruptly, his cheeks pink. “You two can figure out how you wanna sleep, but I’m not moving.”

“Aw, where’s that big, strong Alpha stamina, Scotty?” Stiles teases. But he doesn’t get to do much more, because Scott gropes for the pillow behind his head, and none too kindly whacks him with it. “Hey!”

Derek rolls his eyes as they scuffle. This, he supposes, is going to be his life now.

He barely avoids taking an elbow to the face.

It’s not until they’ve settled into bed, with Stiles and Derek stretched out on either side of Scott (because Stiles refuses to be the middle spoon between “two werewolf space heaters - one is enough, thanks.”) that the weight of everything falls into place. Derek finds himself gazing at the line of their bodies in the dark, the flickers of light through the window just barely illuminating the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, the steady rise and fall of Scott’s chest.

It feels like a dream.

“Hey,” he murmurs, the voice catching in his throat. Scott’s eyelids flutter. He’s not quite asleep yet, but he’s close. His heartbeat a comforting, steady thud in Derek’s ears, the tension completely drained out of him.

“Hmm?” is all the other man says in return.

The words stick. Derek wonders if there will ever come a day when they won’t - when he can say them without the nagging fear that the universe is going to rip everything good in his life out from under him. He says them anyway, because _damnit_ , he has to start somewhere. “I love you.”

The drowsy smile curves Scott’s lips before his eyes drift open - the color of clean, fresh earth in the gloom. “I love you too,” he whispers back. He says it so simply, as if there were ever any doubt that he wouldn’t.

Derek sighs, whatever fear he’s been keeping in going with it. He cups Scott’s jaw, and leans in to press a kiss to his brow. _‘Thank you,’_ it says, where Derek can’t muster the words.

“Mmm, love you,” Scott repeats. And then his eyes slide shut and he’s drifting off to sleep again.

Fingers lightly brushing his hand pull his eyes away. He doesn’t find Stiles watching him, exactly. His eyes are still peacefully shut. But there’s the gentlest curve of a smile touching his face. Awake, listening. His fingers thread through Derek’s, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. It’s such a simple action, but so filled with encouragement and love that Derek aches. All he can do is squeeze back, heart too full to speak.

It’s perfect.

 

\--------------------3---------------------

 

Which is why he has to remind himself that he loves them three days later. (Three days of refusing to leave the loft, of warning their Pack that under _no circumstances_ \- save for the world actually ending - are they to be disturbed. Three days of only moving from the bed to the couch to the kitchen and back. Three days of more sex than they can stand - three days of figuring out how you even _have_ satisfying sex when there’s more than two people involved. It’s a lot of extra coordination and a lot of apologies for stray elbows and knees and getting tangled up in ways that aren’t entirely sexy.)

It’s been perfect. He loves them.

He _really loves them._

And then Scott freezes in the middle of eating his breakfast (french toast and caramelized apple syrup because Derek is a goddamned _sap_ ), and flushes bright pink before his face goes pale. It’s his “I’ve forgotten my biochem assignment!” face. His “it’s mom’s birthday next week and I haven’t gotten her anything!” face.

Except he’s looking right at Derek, with a look of dawning comprehension and a touch of horror.

“Wait,” he says, “mating is actually a _thing?_ ”

Derek heaves a weary sigh. “Shit.”

Scott leans forward, his eyes a little wild. “There’s a _werewolf marriage?_ ”

And because Scott has no idea what subtlety means, or whispering, there’s a sudden choking sound from the bathroom, and Stiles’ head appears around the doorway. His mouth is still covered in toothpaste foam, forgotten toothbrush loosely held in one hand. “ _WHAT?_ ” he croaks loudly around it.

Derek gently closes his book. “Okay,” he concedes, “we need to have a talk.”

“There’s a _Talk?_ ” Stiles gasps. “A _werewolf married Talk?_ ”

Derek ruthlessly suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, and reminds himself that he loves them, and that he _chose this._

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

**END.**


End file.
